


Stuck In The Wrong Frame

by noahfics



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, First Love, Gender Dysphoria, Gender Identity, Getting Together, Happy Ending, I promise, Internalized Transphobia, M/M, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, gender euphoria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-10-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 03:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8084398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahfics/pseuds/noahfics
Summary: "The only war is within. When you are ready to fight it, the field awaits"AU in which Kenma is a trans boy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so happy to be putting this fic out there, finally. It's been such a labor of love, and it's largely personal for me as a trans person. I've been putting everything I have into making this fic accurate and real and correct, and I hope that you see that in it. This fic should be 3 parts but that isn't completely finalized yet.  
> Warnings for: transphobia (internalized and externalized), language, coming out; subsequent arguments (with parents). Well-meaning people being unsure/reacting negatively to Kenma being trans.  
> The title comes from the song 'Salt' by The Bad Suns

Kenma might bottle up euphoria if he could, as fleeting as it tends to be. He thinks if he were to put it into a little glass bottle, it’d be glowing, so luminous you couldn’t look for more than a few seconds. It’d glow bright and yellow, and he’d hold it close to his heart.

It would contrast the dark greys and blacks of sadness, of the crushing anxiety he felt when realizing this was  _ life long _ , of realizing that ‘coming out’ was an always thing, never one and done. It would -- no, it did outshine the anxiety, but sometimes just barely. He’s Kenma, isn’t even sure he was ever anything else, but it seems so. 

He’s Kenma, but not everyone sees it as so. His parents admire him as their only child, as their pride and joy, as their daughter. As Katsuko, which he decidedly is not.

He stands at the end of his bed, overlooks the light blue of his bedsheets, shakes the stringy hair away from his forehead. He knows his bedroom well, but at times he feels foreign standing in the middle of it, especially that day.

“Katsuko!” his mother calls from the kitchen, sounding impatient.

He doesn’t bother answering, just emerges from his bedroom with a soft expression on his face and one eyebrow raised. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Katsuko, your hair,” she says mournfully, pushing a piece out of the way. “You’ve got to get yourself presentable.” She pauses, sighs, steps forward a moment, face softening.

He sighs, nearly telling her his hair definitely isn’t the worst part of his appearance, but bites it back and says “yeah, thank you,” before heading back into his bedroom.

He walks past the dresser, tucks his hair up into a barely acceptable bun, and slings his bag over his shoulder. Tetsurou will be waiting to walk to school with him, and he’s not going to leave him waiting.

His mother stops him on the way out, clicks her tongue and adjusts his shirt before sending him on his way. She’s always preening, fixing, as if she’s got nothing else to do -- in a way, she hasn’t. She hasn’t got any other children, hasn’t got many hobbies. Kenma is her passion, they both know this, but she tends to be a bit overbearing, so he’s glad to get away from her.

“Tetsurou has practice after school!” he says on his way out, door closing before his mother can voice her protest.

He’s welcomed into Kuroo’s with open arms, the third year offering a warm “Kenma, hello!” His volleyball bag is hung off of one shoulder, compact so it can be easily stowed away on the train ride. It’s like this every morning; Kenma goes off to meet Tetsu just after seven, the two walk to the train, come back home together. 

“Are you coming after?” Tetsu asks softly, leaving a large set of footprints behind in the snow.

“Yeah, think so,” Kenma agrees. Family friends are coming down from Misawa to visit, but he’d like to spend as much time away as possible. It’s an excuse if nothing else, one he can easily grasp at.

“Hey, Kenma?”

Kenma pauses for a moment, looks up with a doe-eyed expression.

“Do you wanna come to mine tomorrow?”

Kenma mulls it over for a few seconds, nodding and offering a quiet: “that’s fine.” He doesn’t know that his mom will let him while they have guests over, but it would be worth a shot.

* * *

As it turns out, he’s not allowed after all. His mother reprimands him for even bothering to  _ ask  _ the question in the first place. His father gives a stern glare, and when he drags his heels into the carpet, unwilling to go to his room and get dressed, they’re not pleased.

Somehow, in unison, they both say “Kozume Katsuko!” and his mother adds a quiet, “immediately.”, leaving their son to walk off to his room rather dejectedly.

The sound of his previous name rattles in his skull, filling all the nooks and crannies of his brain. The resounding ‘oh’ sound at the end is grating on him at best, sickening at worst. He stands in front of his bedroom, giving a soft sigh as he tugs the shirt over his frame.

God, Kenma’s soft. He’d been narrow as a child, almost boyish, ironically, but as he aged he filled out and softened. His hips became a bit rounder, wider, and he gained a layer of fat on his chest, even his cheekbones rounding out slightly.

He could take up volleyball like Kuroo, sharpen him into straight lines and sudden dips, like Kuroo, but it’d never be the same.

Everything he isn’t, Kuroo is: strong, capable, likable, angular and stiff in the right places, an athletic build from years of playing volleyball. Kenma’s none of that.

_Breathe_ , he tells himself.  _Grit your teeth. Open your eyes. Shove your feelings down down down until they dissipate into... nothing._

“Katsuko!” his mother calls again, voice losing any touch of softness. “Right now!”

He sighs once more, forces himself to tread lightly down the wooden floors of their hallway. “Sorry mom, dad,” he offers, not meeting their eyes.

They both smile apologetically in the direction of their guests; Hiroji Hatsuo, who, to the best of Kenma’s knowledge, used to work alongside his father, as well as his wife and their daughters, Akari and Makiko.

His mother had been delighted, excitedly explained that Makiko was just about Kenma’s age -- three months shy -- and that perhaps they might be friends.

Kenma hates boasting, hates being boasted about, but he’s long since learned that the acceptable dinner conversation for half-acquaintances, half-friends are comparing your children's’ accomplishments, though he doesn’t think he’s got many.

“Katsuko’s practically ready for college now, isn’t she?” Hatsuo asks. Kenma tunes him out.

He offers up polite smiles when his mother gives him the appropriate looks, occasionally nods to agree with whatever she’s saying about him; true, untrue, he doesn’t care. Everything he says is at least partially untrue these days.

Finally, finally, the conversation shifts to ten year old Akari, the limelight off of Kenma, who sinks back into his seat.

“Katsuko,” his father says under his breath, prompting his son to fix his posture once more, making himself presentable.

He’d rather be at Kuroo’s, anyway, rather be on Kuroo’s bed or on Kuroo’s couch or at Kuroo’s table, eating dinner with his parents.

He’ll leave at the soonest chance he gets, dash off to his room and hide away for the night. The adults will converse and laugh, and they’ve got two kids anyway, so they can entertain each other.

His parents must know somewhere deep down how bad he wants to be gone, because they keep dinner going another hour and a half, bordering on two. Kenma’s started faking yawns, letting his eyes tear up ever so slightly as he asks to be excused for the second time that meal.

He’s allowed this time, slowly walks down the hallway and collapses onto his mattress, pulling his phone close.

His fingers press softly, dialing the familiar number.

“Kuro?” he asks after the third ring.

“Kenma, hi!” the older boy says, sounding quite pleased.

“Kuro, I might- I might come over,” he says, words tripping clumsily out of his mouth. “Uh, when my parents… when they go to sleep.”

“Mm, that’s fine,” Tetsurou agrees. “I’m studying, could use some company.”

Kenma nods, not realizing Kuroo can’t see him, exactly. “Okay,” he says after a long pause, holding the phone to his ear. Tetsu breathes on the other line, even, steady, consistent, until he says, “text me before you come, okay?”

Kenma voices his agreement, setting his phone off to the side. It makes a satisfying chime when he plugs it in, head falling against the pillow.

He guesses he’s got another hour to go before his parents are asleep, an hour and fifteen to be  _ sure  _ they’re truly out, as well as their guests. They seem to be getting their younger daughter ready for bed, anyway.

He sighs, glancing up at wall directly facing him, a picture of his mother holding him as a child tacked onto the wall -- by her, nonetheless, but Kenma never minds.

_ “You’ve got to tell her” _ something nags deep inside him. Before he can second guess it, he stands, forcing his legs to carry himself out to the kitchen.

“Mom?” he asks quietly, one arm across his stomach.

“Hello, Katsuko,” she greets, eyebrows furrowed. “Are you unwell? You’re pale,” she notes, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead.

He pulls away and shakes his head, just says “no, not unwell. Uh, can I-” he coughs awkwardly, forcing himself to continue. “Could I maybe talk to you?”

She smiles that strange comforting smile only a mother could manage, pulls him aside into the front hall, one hand affectionately brushing a stray hair out of his eyes.

“Such a beautiful young lady,” she admires softly. Kenma gives an involuntary shudder. “Now, what did you want to talk about?”

“I’m-” he begins, cutting himself off. “I’m a… I’m nervous about Thursday,” he chokes out; another lie. “I have… it’s a test. Um, it’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Night, mom,” he says hurriedly, ducking around her.

She’s left confused in his wake but caring nonetheless, lingers and lets her perfume linger in the hallway for a few moments before returning to her tired house guests. 

Kenma’s chest heaves, practically. He doesn’t know what got into him just then, practically telling her while they’ve got  _ company _ . It’s surely unacceptable.

She peeks in when he’s faking sleep -- he can tell that it’s her by her quick breathing and light footsteps -- and closes the door, heading off to bed herself.

It’s twenty, then ten, then five, and eventually two minutes when Kenma stands, floorboards creaking. He grimaces as he steps into his sneakers; they shouldn’t be in his room anyway, shouldn’t be worn in the house, but he’s just going to be wearing them for a moment indoors, and it’s not like his mother is there to tell him to remove them.

**to: kuro**

i’m going now

 

**from: kuro**

you know where to find me, kenma.

 

Kenma steps on light feet, approaching Kuroo’s family’s house, six down from his.

 

**to: kuro**

i’m outside

 

Tetsu is there in what seems like an instant, quietly letting the door creak open. “Gotta be a little quiet,” he remarks, inviting Kenma into the house alongside him.

“Kuro,” Kenma croons, practically melting into his friend’s arms. It’s been such a long day, leaving Kenma beyond ready to decompress. Being around Tetsurou is a surefire way for him to relax.

He lingers for a second before walking off to the bathroom, gripping the sides of the basin with white knuckles. 

He sighs, says “Kozume Kenma,” aloud, watches his name roll off his tongue. He grins, exposing his slightly crooked teeth to his reflection, and repeats: “Kenma.”

“Ke-e-nma,” he repeats, dragging the ‘e’ sound out through his teeth. It feels like much more of a complete name than Katsuko. Kenma encompasses all he wants to be; he wears it well.

Tetsurou makes a point to slip Kenma’s name into conversation wherever possible, knowing it reassures his friend, makes him feel strangely validated, and when he slips out of the bathroom with a shy smile, Tetsu greets him by name again.

“You’re on edge,” Tetsurou says, frowning. “Why?”

Kenma shrugs, tugging a bit at the hem of his sweatshirt. “Nothing.” A lie. Again.

Tetsurou frowns, raising an eyebrow as if to prompt Kenma.

The younger boy doesn’t budge, just lets his eyes wander to Kuroo’s bedroom door. He doesn’t meet Kuroo’s gaze, just lets his own cast down to his feet. 

He can tell Kuroo’s about to ask again, so for the second time that night he steps around, into Kuroo’s bedroom, sitting up on the edge with his legs crossed.

“Kenma…” Tetsurou tries, stretching. The third year swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing as he does so. He shakes his head, just asks, “do you think you’ll tell her soon?”

Kenma shrugs; he doesn’t think so, and there’s no way Kuroo understands what it’s like. They’re always talking about their daughter, their only child, their pride and joy. Kenma’s  _ not _ , but if he were to tell them, it would never go well. He doesn’t know exactly what might happen, but it’d never be good, so that was enough to keep him quiet.

“They’ll know eventually, you know,” Kuroo says with a quiet sigh. “If…” he trails off, leaving the thought at that. This is the complete opposite of what Kenma needs.

He abandons that approach completely, settling in on one he thinks might be more helpful.

“Try telling me,” he says. 

Kenma’s confused and it shows in the lines etched into his forehead. Why would he tell Tetsurou when he obviously knew?

Tetsu elaborates, “like I was your mom or your dad.”

Kenma lets his lips part from the tight line they’d formed, his hand at the back of his neck. “I don’t know.”

Kuroo sits as well -- he’s not going to press, making Kenma uncomfortable, but he’d like to at least attempt to make his friend feel better.

Kenma takes in a sharp breath, feels the air sink into his lungs, stay awhile, leak back out once more. “I’m not-- I’m not a girl,” he finally says, voice slightly wobbly.

It’s  _ Kuroo  _ he’s talking to. Not his mother or father, so he has no reason to be nervous.

“I’m not a girl,” he repeats, a bit stronger this time. This sends tiny jolts throughout his spine. “I’m a  _ boy _ , Kuro. I’ve never not been… a boy. It’s-”

Tetsurou nods, practically beaming. “You are a boy,” he affirms, noting the way Kenma’s cheeks are flushed. He can tell Kenma’s a bit embarrassed, that he should stop before it gets too much for his friend (he’s close to that point, anyway).

The smaller boy pulls his PSP out of the bag he brought along; he won’t stay overnight, he’ll go when it’s time for Tetsu to go to sleep, but he’s never without it in any case.

“Thanks, Kuro,” he says absently, leaning against the wall. His chest is a bit tight and his cheeks are hot, but nothing is too bad now that he’s away from home, away from it all. Kuroo’s always there when he needs him to be, somehow, and Kenma has never ceased to find that amazing.

Tetsurou nods, reaching for his own backpack on the floor. It only makes sense -- he said he was working on assignments before Kenma came over, so he’d probably like to get back to that.

The two sit in silence for some time, Kenma skillfully maneuvering to play his game and Kuroo quietly finishing up his homework, save for the occasional groan or sigh on Tetsurou’s part, until Kenma’s so deliriously tired that he actually lets himself fall asleep against the wall, game dropped on his lap.

It’s 6:28 when he wakes up in Tetsurou’s room with a sore neck and a sharp pain in his chest, groaning softly. He hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but he’d been so completely exhausted that he hadn’t been able to wake up.

He hadn’t woken up on his own, either. Tetsurou’s mother had come in to wake her son for school, and exclaimed “Kozume!” upon seeing her son’s guest, causing him to wake rather suddenly. She wasn’t  _ angry _ , of course, just a bit surprised.

He sits up almost immediately, blinking slowly up at her. She looks apologetic for startling him, gives a soft smile and just says she wasn’t aware Kuroo had a guest. It’s never a big deal for Kenma to be over here, which is a nice change of pace from his own home, of course.

She leaves him to wake Kuroo, who looks so utterly peaceful that it’s almost painful for Kenma to do so, but he reaches out anyway and sort of shakes him awake, shuddering at how it’s actually quite painful to take the deep breath he does when Kuroo squints up at him.

“Hey, Kuro,” he says, relishing in the way his voice is deepened slightly from sleep. He hadn’t meant to stay the night, but it’s certainly too late to go home, so he might as well stay.

Tetsurou stretches slightly, pulls the blanket over his head for a moment (his bedhead still peeks out at the top), and sighs before pushing the blanket off once more, legs swinging over the side of the mattress.

The older boy rubs at his eyes, squinting at the sunlight beaming through the window. “Are you..?” he trails off, yawning. “Are you staying to eat?”

Kenma sort of shrugs; he assumes so, but he’s not going to impose on Kuroo, who reaches for the clothes set out on his desk before plodding off to the bathroom.

He comes back dressed and looking slightly more awake, takes a quick glance at his volleyball shoes and his bag, and sits back down on his unmade bed, running a hand through his tousled hair to try and calm it, unsuccessfully. 

“Akihito-nii is visiting,” he says, stifling a second yawn. “You’ll see him if you stay.”

Kenma just nods at that. Akihito is older than Kuroo by four years and Kenma by five, and Daishin is only one year younger than Kenma, so he gets on well with Kuroo’s brothers. He’ll stay, decidedly; his parents have likely discovered he’s not there anyway, and if that’s the case, they’re thoroughly displeased, so he’s not going back any sooner than he has to.

Standing, he stifles a yawn, stuffs his PSP back into his backpack, and shuffles down the hallway. As Kuroo had said, Akihito and Daishin are at the table, both plates piled high with breakfast. He offers a quiet good morning to Kuroo’s brother’s parents, passing up on little more than tea and a bowl of rice for the morning, somehow unable to find an appetite.

Breakfast is mostly uneventful -- Kuroo comes a few moments later than Kenma, but Akihito is the center of attention, and Daishin is buzzing excitedly (he’s been a morning person for as long as Kenma’s known him). He can’t say he minds the chatter, just observes the difference between this and his own near silent mornings until breakfast is over.

It’s comforting and Kenma soaks up as much of it as he can, knowing his parents are going to be incredibly disappointed at him when he returns home, more likely than not.

* * *

 

“What’s gotten into you, Katsuko-chan?”

Kenma blinks up at his mother, wide-eyed and unmoving. “Nothing,” he says after a long pause, realizing she won’t lay off until she has her answers.

She clicks her tongue for a moment, turning from where she stands in the kitchen. He can tell she doesn’t believe him, but he’s most definitely not in the mood to get into it.

“Katsuko,” she repeats, slightly more firm. “You aren’t  _ yourself _ . Your father and I-” she shakes her head, losing her trail of thought. “Do you need help?” she finally asks, expression softening. 

“No.”

She’s exasperated. Kenma knows this, and yet he won’t do anything to alleviate it.

“Where’s my daughter?” she sighs, looking towards Kenma. “Where’s Katsuko? Where’s my… My happy daughter?”

She’s affectionate. Not accusing, not blaming, just genuinely concerned and affectionate. Normally, Kenma would have smiled at this, felt a bit warmed from the inside at her sweet words, but they make his stomach churn, today.

“I’m… here,” he tries, shrugging. It’s the best he can do, he thinks.

“Katsuko, dad and I want to help, but you--” she breaks off, waving her arms uselessly, “you need to be able to tell us how to.”

“It’s fine,” Kenma insists, turning his attention away from his mother and out the window.

“Kozume Katsuko!” she exclaims, clearly fed up. “You don’t… you never  _ act  _ this way!” She seems sad, almost, and if there were any other circumstances, Kenma might be able to force himself to be slightly more concerned.

She sighs, almost woeful, says: “I don’t want you going to the Kuroo house this week. You’ll stay home.”

Kenma can feel his jaw clench, shoulders tensing. He wants to fight it, wants to tell her it’s unfair, but he’s so utterly tired of fighting, so he just gives a defeated sigh and nods, letting a couple stray hairs fall in front of his eyes.

“I do this because I care, Katsuko-chan,” she says, quiet this time. And maybe, Kenma thinks, he won’t understand because he doesn’t have children of his own, but this definitely doesn’t seem like something that’s caring. It’s quite the opposite.

He picks up his bag, swings it over his shoulder with a quiet groan, and treads up to his bedroom, dropping the backpack by the door and leaning against his desk.

He pulls out his phone, exhausted. It’s on seventeen percent but he can’t be bothered to get the charger from across the room, lets his fingers move gingerly across the screen until he has something he’s properly satisfied with.

**to: kuro**

i can’t come over this week.

 

**to: kuro**

my mom won’t let me.

 

**from: kuro**

that’s terrible.

 

Kenma reads the text, rereads it again, and a third time before shutting his phone off, setting it on the floor beside him. His stomach growls, prompting him to get something to eat, but he ignores the urge; getting food means going to the kitchen and facing his mother, and he’s in no mood for that.

He’s on the mattress for a long while, acutely aware of the hunger pangs he’s feeling, of his binder pressing into his ribs, and he stands, positioning himself in front of his window.

He stands there for a brief period of time, watches blades of grass sway in the wind, watches the clouds move languidly throughout the sky, just sighs.

He laughs dryly for a moment, pads silently across his bedroom floor until he’s in front of the mirrored closet doors. His sweatshirt comes off carefully, leaving his binder and his sweatpants on. He’s not bad looking, objectively, but he’s not particularly good looking, he thinks. 

His eyes fall over the gentle curve of his chest, even with the binder. He still recalls putting it on for the first time, the way it squeezed him tight, pieced him together in a way that he felt somewhat complete. He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous to be this attached to a somewhat tattered piece of cloth, but it’s enough for him. It’d been so uncomfortable, (still was, sometimes), had squashed and pressed all of the soft, rounded parts of his chest in, had been put on every morning for the past year.

He shakes his head, pulling an old t-shirt over it and letting it fall over his shoulders, turns away from the mirrors and turns to his bed.

It shouldn’t get to him, realistically. His parents don’t  _ know _ so he can’t expect better of them. But he does, somehow. He’ll have to tell them, despite the sick feeling he gets when he thinks about this being forever, about the fact that if they can’t wrap their head around it, life is going to become exponentially more difficult than it currently is. It’s worth it, though. It has to be. There has to be something for him to grasp at; something to hold onto.

* * *

 

He’s tired. Kenma’s so absolutely tired of fighting this fight, something he’d never even had a  _ choice  _ in. But everything is a bit too much today, his mom bit too loud and the dinner she’s made a bit too hot and Kenma a bit too on edge.

It’s all too much.

His mother asks for his attention quietly, over a steaming bowl of ramen, looking up tentatively.

In lieu of a response he looks up at her, quirks one eyebrow.

She seems to think for a moment, just asks: “how was school today, Katsuko?”

Something inside of Kenma just snaps, just breaks and shatters into no less than two dozen pieces, and he feels a bit like his intestines are all twisted into one and other, like he might be sick at the mention of his old name.

He doesn’t ponder over it, doesn’t give himself a chance to stop the words from traveling out of the confines of his mind and tumbling out over his tongue and his teeth, falling onto the floor in front of him.

They come quick, almost silent.

“I’m…I’m not Katsuko.”

She doesn’t look angry or upset, merely perplexed. She rests her chin in the palm of one hand, coaxing her child to continue. And he has to, has to like his life depends on it.

He feels like someone is grabbing him from the insides with two hands, pulling  _ hard  _ and splitting him in two, pushing in on his stomach until the words stop clattering around his skull, until they come out into the empty air.

“I’m not your daughter,” he says, weakly. Despite how quiet he normally is,he knows he has to continue if he’s got any chance of having her understanding. He’s just glad his dad’s working late, so he has to face only her. “I’m a boy, mom. I… I have been. I-- I’ve always been a boy.” 

Once he starts speaking, it’s as if he can’t stop, despite the thoughts inside his head ( _stop!_ bright and red and flashing and _this is a terrible idea_ ). “I- um, I’m… Kenma?” he says, though it presents itself as more of a question.

And then all at once, the hands he felt previously rip him totally open, leaving him vulnerable and  _ there  _ and as much as he’s willing his feet to run, they’re cemented onto the ground, unwilling to move.

Her eyes seem to grow infinitely wider, like in the programs Kenma used to watch as a child; they practically bug out of her head. She’s the very face of shock.

“Katsuko…” she whispers.

“Kenma,” he deadpans, gaze shifting to the floor.

“Your father and I can get you help for-” she stops, gesturing wildly, “for this. We can  _ help _ .”

Her words burn. Suddenly, her own hands are among those Kenma previously felt along him, tearing once more. He’s open. He’s completely and totally open, gaping, in the middle of his kitchen.

“I don’t need help,” he says bitterly. He doesn’t. He needs them, needs them to be okay with this.

“Where did this come from?” she asks, almost helplessly. “You never showed any indication, Katsuko-chan.”

“Kenma,” he snaps, places his arms across his chest as if to hold himself together. He shrugs; it didn’t come from anywhere, it just always was, whether or not she knew.

She stands from the table, lets her spoon clatter down, just shakes her head. He doesn’t know whether to be worried about her newfound silence or not, but he can’t imagine it’s positive. 

She doesn’t give him another glance, just follows through down the hallway to her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Maybe it’ll be okay (even if that’s him reaching), maybe she just needs time to process. It’s all maybe, but it’s also all Kenma has. 

He stands in the kitchen, looking completely dumbfounded, like she’s just slapped him (she might as well have, the way he’s feeling). He’s trying to get himself to move, but he just stays, just stares down at the kitchen floor for what might be thirty seconds, might be three hours. He truly doesn’t know, couldn’t guess if his life depended on it, until he gathers the strength to go to his own bedroom.

_ Stupid _ , his thoughts say.  _ Stupid, reckless _ ; two words that don’t describe him in many, if any other situations, but two words he feels so deeply in his core.  _ Stupid and reckless and careless _ , but there’s nothing he can do to take it back, and rather than mull it over, he sinks into his bed, reaching for his phone.

**to: kuro**

i told my mom

 

Tetsurou will probably ask if it went well or not, but Kenma doesn’t think he can quite answer that -- it didn’t go bad, or as bad as it could have, but he wouldn’t call it good, exactly. It was a strange middle ground, one he wasn’t quite comfortable with.

He sighs, sets his phone down beside him. It vibrates once and then twice and still a third time, three texts more than likely all from Tetsu. He can’t be bothered to read them, let alone reply. That conversation alone completely drained him. He shudders to think he’ll have to tell his dad as well.

* * *

 

Kenma’s no sooner back from school than he’s sat at the kitchen table, shoulders slightly hunched. His mother has decided they need to spend more time as a family, but she certainly hadn’t said anything about Kenma not having his headphones in, so that’s what he’s taken to.

He hasn’t bothered to turn anything on, but everyone’s mostly quiet. His mom’s chopping up vegetables for dinner and his dad’s washing dishes, neither of them paying him much mind. (It’s ironic, because he’s  _ right there _ and for as much as his mother said she wants him around more, she’s not doing anything about it).

“Did Katsuko have a productive   day at school?” his father asks.

Kenma’s mostly disinterested but listens to the conversation somewhere in the back of his mind, yawning slightly.

His mother pauses and looks up from her cutting board, offering a small shrug. “She doesn’t tell me about anything these days.”

His father hums his agreement, just shakes his head. “She’s always at the Kuroo house, isn’t she? We hardly see any of her.”

Kenma doesn’t look up, but he’s acutely aware of their conversation now -- he pulls his hood over his head but doesn’t move much otherwise, careful to listen to every word.

“I told her--” his mom casts a glance in his direction, cautious. She continues: “I told her I don’t want her going over there for the time being. She…” She breaks off, shakes her head, swallows what seems to be a lump in her throat.

“She  _ what _ ?” his father asks. “She’s not with Tetsurou, is she?” Kenma can practically  _ see  _ his father’s face reddening. “I’ve always had my worries about that-”

“No! No!” his mother is quick to exclaim, shaking her head. “No, she isn’t.”

His father relaxes for just a moment before asking, “what is it, then?”

His mother visibly tenses up, shaking her head. “She says she-”

Kenma looks up suddenly, removing one headphone and asking: “did someone say ‘Katsuko’?” The scared expression on his mother’s face is laughable, almost, and she quickly shakes her head.

“No,” she says. “Your father and I were just discussing work.”

It’s almost alarming how easily she lies, compartmentalizes her face as to mask her emotions. If Kenma hadn’t known, he would have believed her, probably.

He shrugs, puts his headphones back in -- still without the music, lets them resume their conversation.

“She told me…” his mom continues, her voice hushed, “she’s a  _ boy. _ Kenma--”

Kenma takes in a sharp breath, feeling those same hands grabbing at him and pulling once more, leaving him empty. His father isn’t speaking but his face has reddened and he’s dropped his dish towel. None of those are good signs.

He finally speaks, turning to Kenma. He just says: “Katsuko, you need to clean your room.” His mouth is a tight line and his forehead is creased in concern.

Kenma raises one eyebrow, half tempted to instigate his father.

“It’s  _ Kenma _ ,” he says defiantly -- he hates that it’s this, that simply existing as he is is an act of defiance against his parents. It shouldn’t be this way.

“To your room,” his father repeats. “It’s atrocious.”

_ ‘It’s not’  _ is what he wants to say, but doesn’t. Both he and his father know very well that his room is far from atrocious, but he’s not in the mood for an argument and makes his way down the hall to the last door on the right, slamming it hard behind him.

So what, he’s being difficult? So what, he’s a bit upset? So what, his father’s angry? None of it matters, not really. He picks up his phone, scrolls to Kuroo’s contact, presses ‘call’. It’s all muscle memory.

“Kenma, hi,” his friend greets after the fourth ring.

Kenma can kind of hear Tetsu’s younger brother in the background, but he can’t really make out any words. He forgets to reply to Tetsu’s greeting, just stands in the corner of his room with the phone pressed against his red cheek.

“Kenma?” Tetsurou presses, prompting a reaction from the younger boy.

“Oh, Kuro,” he says, nearly having forgotten. “Sorry.”

Kuroo sees through it, as he usually does. He asks, “what’s wrong?”

Suddenly, all too suddenly, Kenma doesn’t think he  _ wants  _ to recount his encounter with his parents, doesn’t want to tell Tetsurou about it. But he’s the one who called, and it would be awfully pathetic of him to hang up.

Kenma half mumbles something like “never mind” under his breath, but Tetsurou doesn’t fall for it. (Kenma had doubted he would).

“Did you tell your dad?”

“No.” It isn’t a lie, exactly.

“Then what?”

“My mom. She, um, my mom-- my mom told him,” Kenma says, forcing the words out one by one. He doesn’t think he needs to tell Tetsurou that it didn’t exactly go well. He knows Kenma enough to be able to identify the slight wobble in his voice.

“Do you need to come stay the night, Kenma?” his friend asks tentatively. “Akihito-nii is back at school. You could stay in his room, or mine, or-”

“Kuro,” Kenma sighs, shaking his head. “No. She won’t… She won’t let me go to yours.”  _ Or anyone’s, more than likely.  _

“Well,” Tetsurou starts, pausing to think, “did she say anything about me coming to  _ you _ ?”

“No,” Kenma admits. “But-”

“It’s settled then, Kenma!” Tetsu says triumphantly. Kenma can practically envision the smile on his face due to the way he sounds. “Am I coming tonight or tomorrow?”

Kenma sighs, unwavering. He fully expects Kuroo to relent, but he doesn’t, just stays on the line.

“Tomorrow,” he finally says. His mother has an event to go to and his father works night shift, so he’ll have more than enough time to be with Kuroo, enough time for him to be out before Kenma’s mother is back home. It’s so unlike him to sneak behind their backs, but he supposes that things are different now, as unfair as that is.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kuro.”

Tetsurou affirms this, reminding Kenma once more that if he needs a place to stay, he’s welcome at the Kuroo house; he’s like another son in their eyes, which is a comfort to him. His mom won’t be thrilled, but Kuroo was right; she never said he wasn’t allowed at their house. He’s willing to take the consequences to see Kuroo again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We are not what other people say we are. We are who we know ourselves to be, and we are what we love. That's okay."  
> -Laverne Cox

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's enjoyed part 1 of this fic! The feedback and love I've received makes me so immeasurably happy. I hope that you can all enjoy part 2 and soon, part 3 as well.  
> Warnings for: Fights with parents (mild, but it's there.)

Maybe she feels guilty for telling Kenma’s dad, or maybe she feels guilty for the way  _ she  _ treated him, but Kenma’s mom is actually letting up on him slightly. She hasn’t explained why, hasn’t really explicitly said anything about it, but she’s been softer towards him since that night, and he couldn’t be happier about it.

She’d relented, let him stay the night at Tetsurou’s -- only after being reassured by Kenma, Tetsu,  _ and  _ Tetsu’s mother and father that his parents would be home for the night. It wasn’t that they didn’t trust the two together, just that his parents, especially his father, had a tendency to be overprotective of their only child.

Only after he’d completed his chores (a quick tidy of his room, washing the dishes, and sweeping up the kitchen) was he allowed to go, quietly, almost habitually exiting his front door and making his way down the road towards Tetsu’s house. The lights in, respectively, Tetsurou’s bedroom, his little brother’s bedroom, and the living room were on, and he could vaguely make out the silhouette of who he assumed to be Tetsu’s mother in the window.

Cautiously, he approaches the door, giving it a tentative knock. He’s greeted warmly by Kenma’s father (“Good to see you, Kenma-kun! Tetsurou is just upstairs in his bedroom.”), and his mother (“Oh, Kenma-kun!”) and then, (“Tetsurou! Kenma is here for you!”)

Kenma is quick to head up the stairs, not wanting to make Kuroo come downstairs just to bring him  _ back  _ upstairs, where they spend most of their time, anyway.

His best friend greets him excitedly, standing from his desk chair. He’s still in his Nekoma volleyball jacket, stretching momentarily before taking a couple steps across his wooden floors towards Kenma.

“Sorry it’s a bit of a mess,” he says sheepishly, as though Kenma’s never seen his bedroom in a worse state. “I meant to clean before you came home, but I had to help Daishin with English, and then we had practice -- I didn’t have the time for everything.”

Kenma doesn’t mind, he never minds, not as long as he’s there and Kuroo’s there and they’re happy. That’s absolutely enough to keep him happy.

“It’s not… I don’t mind, Kuro--”

He’s quickly cut off by Tetsurou’s mother calling her son from downstairs, prompting him to stand up at the top of the stairs. She seems frenzied, almost, like she’s rushing around.

“Tetsurou -- your father has a work event,” she says, ascending the stairs towards the two of them. “We’re going to drop Daishin off at a friend’s. There’s dinner for you two in the fridge, if you boys get hungry.”

Kuroo nods, seeming to take it all in.

“Be good!” she says, though nothing in her tone would suggest she thinks they’ll be anything otherwise. “Dad and I will be back late, so you two try not to stay up too late, alright?” she pauses, reaching for her jacket where it’s hung on the wall.

She sneaks a quick kiss on her son’s cheek before heading down the hallway to Daishin’s room, high heels clicking until they come to a full stop.

“Just you and me, then,” Kuroo says, grinning. “Shame we’ve got to  _ behave. _ ”

Something inside of Kenma soars at that, and if he didn’t know, he might think Tetsurou was actually, honest to god flirting with him.

“Too bad,” he deadpans, ducking around his friend and heading back to his bedroom.

Kuroo laughs, just properly laughs, following his friend into the bedroom, door closed behind them. His mom says a repetitive “be good, boys!” and then the door is closed and they’re  _ alone _ , truly alone.

Kenma half shivers at the thought, propping himself up against the wall Tetsurou’s bed is pushed up against. It’s cozy, made messily, and his room is just so him, Kenma can’t help but smile fondly.

He thinks he’ll remember being this way forever, remember exactly how Tetsurou’s bedroom is. It smells of cologne and cinnamon and  _ Kuroo _ , just Kuroo. His volleyball jersey, proudly donning number one, is hung by the door, shoes and bag discarded by the closet. A window provides sunlight during the day, but it’s past eight already and the moon’s started to make itself known, providing a soft light for the two of them. (It reflects off of Kuroo’s skin in such a way that makes Kenma’s breath hitch, even if he’d never dare admit that).

A framed picture sits atop his dresser, and Kenma’s heartbeat makes itself ever present in his ear when he realizes what it is; a picture of the two of them, taken from the back by Kuroo’s mother after one of her son’s matches. In it, they’re walking down the street, sharing an umbrella.

Kuroo had been so happy that day; his team had won a match two sets to none (against  Nohebi Academy , Kenma recalls), all the weeks and months and years, even, of hard work paying off -- effectively securing Nekoma a spot in Spring High Nationals).

Kenma was happy for his best friend then, of course, but he’s vastly more content now, watching the slope of Tetsurou’s chest move evenly up and down. They don’t speak for some time, just enjoy each other’s presence. They’ve got this unspoken  _ thing  _ that silence is golden, that they don’t need to feel every crevice with conversation. That is, until Kuroo speaks.

“You look…” he trails off, letting a hand rub at the back of his neck. “You look really nice today, Kenma.”

Kenma cocks his head at that. “Hm?” he asks, setting his DS down.

“You-- your hair. It looks nice today,” Kuroo says, though it seems more like he’s merely covering his tracks.

“Oh.”

Tetsurou clears his throat but moves ever so slightly closer to Kenma, the younger boy very much aware of the contact of their bodies; at their knees, their shoulders, his head against Kuroo’s, and their elbows pressed together. He breathes in deep, takes in the scent of Kuroo, feels his best friend relax against his body.

“You’re cold,” Tetsurou observes, adjusting his arm to rest just around Kenma’s waist. The younger of the two can’t help the way his eyebrow raises, can’t help the way he lets out a sigh of content.

“Mm, a bit,” he admits, shrugging.

“And  _ soft.  _ Kenma, you’re so soft.”

Kenma lets out a sigh, almost disapproving.

“Oh, hush. You are,” Kuroo insists.

Kenma’s silent; he doesn’t believe Tetsurou’s telling the truth, doubts he’ll ever believe him, but the words are soft spoken and kind, and he can appreciate that.

“I’ll show you how, don’t think I won’t.”

Kenma crosses both arms over his chest, sighing. “You don’t have to hit on me just because we’re home alone, Kuro.”

With that, he wiggles away from his best friend, knees pulled up to his chest.

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Tetsurou insists, shaking his head. “Not-- not because they aren’t home!”

The younger boy doesn’t reply, just lets his gaze return to the gaming system in his hand.

“You’re awfully good at that, aren’t you?” Kuroo asks.

“Guess so. It’s almost finished, though.”

The silence resumes. Tetsurou drums a pen on the end of his bed, Kenma shifts occasionally, but it’s all lovely and silent, even though Kenma’s starting to feel a bit cold again.

He gives in, leaning once more back into Tetsu’s shoulder.

“I meant it,” his friend says, gazing up towards the fan. “What I said earlier, about you.”

“Oh.”

“I  _ did.” _

“I didn’t say-”

“And,” Tetsu continues, “I meant it when I said I’d show you how.”

Kenma takes his eyes off the screen for just a moment, effectively letting his on screen character die. The flashing red light meant his game was going to die soon, anyway. Somehow, he knows he’s got more things that are infinitely more pressing to worry about.

Kenma spares a glance at his friend, swallowing quick and hard and turning his head away. It’s just at that moment that his stomach growls, prompting Tetsu to give him a curious glance.

“You’re hungry,” he states plainly.

“I guess-”

Kenma doesn’t need to say anything further. Tetsurou’s off to the kitchen, returning after some time with the dinner his mom had left in the fridge for them. Kenma can’t quite tell what it is, but he knows that she’s a good cook, so it’s not worth questioning, really.

They eat, silently enjoying the company of one and other. They’re both quite hungry, it seems,

and in Kenma’s haste to scoop the food up, some of the broth spills over the side of his bowl and onto his shirt. Before it can really soak in, Kenma quickly grabs a napkin in his left hand and the fabric in his right, dabbing at the wet spot, exposing his stomach and the fabric of his binder. Once he’s successfully cleaned it up, Tetsurou’s glancing at him with his brows furrowed together, looking rather inquisitive.

“How long have you had this on?” Tetsurou’s fingers carefully trace the bottom of Kenma’s binder, taking the seam of the black fabric between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Don’t know.” Kenma shrugs. “I’m not… I don’t want to take it-- off, Kuro.” His voice wavers but neither of them acknowledge it, and he’s ever so grateful for that.

Realistically, he should; he pulled it over his shoulders at eight that morning and it’s nearly nine at night, hours past the recommended eight for daily wear. He feels  _ wrong  _ taking it off, like he’s exposed somehow. It holds all the soft parts of him together, squeezing it into something flat, something satisfying.

Tetsurou stands, walking towards his closet.

“Kuro…” Kenma says, warningly. His best friend emerges with a black sweatshirt of his -- it’s definitely bound to be big on Kenma, but it’s more than baggy enough that he’d be able to get away with wearing it  _ and  _ maintaining some level of comfort.

“I can leave, if you want,” Tetsu offers. “But I want you to wear this, okay?”

Kenma’s silent.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Kenma shrugs. He’s so far detached from the situation that he doesn’t  _ care,  _ just wants it to be over. “You don’t… have to,” he says almost silently, feeling his cheeks grow red.

“Only if you’re comfortable.”

Kenma stands from the bed in lieu of a response, taking two handfuls of fabric at the bottom and pulling upwards. He stands with his back facing Kuroo, glancing over his shoulder for a moment as he does so.

When it’s off, the first breath is almost dizzying as always, like he’s filling his lungs for the first time in absolutely years. Even if it isn’t quite, it feels that way.

It’s discarded on the floor and Tetsurou’s sweatshirt is pulled over his shoulders, effectively rendering him shapeless.

“Kenma-”

“Don’t--”

“ _ Kenma. Look.” _

The blonde shifts, eyes wide and lips parted, as his best friend takes a tentative step forward.

“Kuro…” It isn’t a real protest, just Kenma coming to the realization that his best friend is right in front of him, the realization that he’s forcing his feet up so that he can be closer to Tetsu’s height, the realization that--

He short circuits, practically, when he feels Tetsurou against him.

It’s gentle and soft; it’s unexpected, and Kenma half can’t believe it’s real -- half can’t believe the way that Tetsurou’s lips are pressed against his, first at his bottom lip and then towards the middle.

Kenma can’t breathe, lets his lips part a bit furtherand a hand rest against Tetsurou’s side, steadying himself. When they break apart, his forehead rests against the dip in Tetsurou’s collarbones, and though there isn’t a mirror nearby, he  _ knows  _ his cheeks are flushed red.

“Told you it wasn’t because my parents were gone.”

Kenma can’t help the breathy laugh that follows, because that response is so completely Kuroo it’s practically absurd.

“I guess you’re right,” he says, absolutely certain that all the air in the room has been sucked out. And despite the absence of his binder, that feeling of being totally and completely unable to breathe is back in his chest, far less unpleasant than the latter situation.

* * *

 

"You're kidding!" 

"Definitely not."

"Kuroo-san-"

"Kissed me. Yes. I  _know_. I still... I don't know what to make of it."

"He likes you!" Hinata says excitedly. It's only over the phone, but Kenma can just picture his facial expression.

"I guessed that," he deadpans, relaxing against his headboard.

"So..." The first year coaxes. Something in the background seems to fall to the ground. Kenma grimaces. Hinata says "One second, Kenma!" into the receiver, and  _yells_ , "Natsu, go find mom!" so loudly that Kenma is forced to hold the phone a few inches from his face.

"Sorry, Kenma!"

"It's-- don't worry about it," Kenma says, shrugging. He can't help but be glad he doesn't have younger siblings. He'd hate to yell that loud at anyone. Even more than that, he'd hate to have someone yell at  _him_ that loud.

Before Hinata can talk again, Kenma yawns into his elbow. Night's starting to fall and even still, he has homework to worry about.

"I think I'm going to go, Hinata," he says. "Homework and stuff."

"Okay!" his friend says cheerfully. "Good luck with Kuroo, Kenma," he sings. Kenma can't discern if Hinata actually made a noise to imitate kissing, but he's not convinced it could be anything else.

"Hinata..." he groans, shaking his head. The line cuts off a moment later and Kenma sets his phone off to the side. He'd called Hinata half because he needed to gauge what had happened that night that Tetsurou had kissed him, half because Kenma knew Tetsurou himself. Kenma had met him at one of Tetsurou's volleyball games while he'd wandered off. He'd only known Hinata this year, of course, but he didn't really have anyone else to talk to.

He reasons that even if he doesn't feel any less confused than when he called Hinata first, at least he doesn't feel  _less_ confused. That alone is enough for him to force the thought out of his mind for the time being. He pulls his backpack up to the bed in front of him, internally sighing at how much homework he's left for tonight.

He tells himself,  _the faster you do it, the faster you can sleep_ (and,  _after you sleep, you get to go meet Tetsurou before school!_ )

Kenma swears he does his homework in record time.

* * *

 

 

December drags itself, bleary and grey and snowy, into Tokyo, trading leisurely morning walks for brisk ones (jogs, practically), to the train station in the mornings.

They haven’t addressed it since that night, haven’t gone further, but Kenma’s felt a slow shift into something more; they’ve had a handful of other moments since then, of frenzied kisses at the train station, of slow, languid, deep kisses in their bedrooms, of the content that Kenma felt deep in his bones, settling in and making itself comfortable.

Tetsu tells him as they walk home one morning that he’s started applying to colleges, and Kenma can practically feel his heart sink.

“University of Tokyo,” he says, prompting Kenma to breathe a sigh of relief.

Despite the fact that neither of them had addressed it, Kenma thinks he just might be Tetsurou’s boyfriend. Or something close. He hasn’t wanted to bring it up, knowing how busy Tetsu is with school and with volleyball, but their current dynamic warms Kenma to his very core.

Tetsurou had even offered the other day to take Kenma into the city for the weekend -- something about his father’s coworker’s sister needing someone to house sit while she was away on a business trip. Despite Kenma not quite having asked his parents yet he’d easily accepted, anticipation bubbling up inside of him.

He’ll ask his mom, probably. They don’t live far from Tokyo, close enough for both him and Tetsu to attend school there, so he can’t imagine there being an issue, especially if he plays it off casually. He’s seventeen, anyway, and more than capable of spending a few days in Tokyo (with Kuroo, anyway).

“University of Tokyo… They’ve got a pretty good volleyball team,” Tetsurou tells him, yawning.

“Oh.”

“You could come visit, too.”

“Suppose so.”

Tetsurou presses. “Would you want to?”

Kenma stops in his tracks, yawning slightly. “Yeah, that would be good.” His parents, his father especially, have started getting onto his case about college as of late -- he’s got a few ideas in the back of his mind, but nothing concrete and certainly nothing he’s applied for yet. That’s not for another  _ year. _

Tetsu’s got his volleyball ahead of him, has this whole bright future; last Kenma heard, he got a scholarship offer to play at a school about 45 minutes from them. He’s practically got his decision made for him, though he has other options.

He’s smart, athletic, comes from a good family. He’ll do well, as he usually does. Kenma’s not so sure his fate is the same, but he prefers not to think about that.

“Would you want to come to mine?” Kenma asks, shuffling his feet as they turn onto their street. Tetsurou had mentioned how Daishin was having a few friends over after school, and coincidentally, with both of them having fairly major tests approaching, Tetsu might need a quiet place to study.

 

“You’re lucky you’re an only child, Kenma,” Kuroo says, stepping out of his shoes. “My house is  _ never  _ this quiet.”

“I guess,” Kenma speaks from the kitchen, quickly rummaging in the cabinets to try and find something for them to snack on. After a bit of time, he decides that microwaved noodles are fine -- and that they definitely need to go shopping.

He’s vaguely aware of Tetsurou’s presence in the other room, emerging once the microwave has alerted him to their food being done, and sets it down on the side table, two backpacks discarded on the floor.

“Hot,” he warns, as if Tetsu couldn’t discern that for himself. He sighs, adds “sorry it isn’t much. We need to go shopping soon. In fact--” he pauses, pulls his phone out of his bag.

 

**to: dad**

dinner tonight?? we’re out of almost everything

 

**from: dad**

I’m at the store as we speak. Your mother is taking care of dinner.

 

**from: dad**

You need to sweep the kitchen and tidy your room.

 

**from: dad**

Don’t forget school, either. Your grades leave much to be desired. You can’t forget that, Katsuko,

 

Kenma gives a dejected sigh,sinking back into the couch. He’d completely forgotten that his father would be home that afternoon; generally, he worked during the day, but he’d worked last night and taken today off, much to Kenma’s dismay.

Tetsurou turns towards him, raising an eyebrow. They’re both beginning to pull out their schoolwork, though it’s doubtful they’ll get much done -- Kenma’s unease is growing at the fact that his father is soon to be home, and neither of them are too into the work.

“Are you alright, Kenma?”

“My dad’s gonna be home soon.” He sighs, pauses just for a moment. “He’s barely talked to me since my mom told him.”

“That’s unfair of him. You’re still his  _ child _ .”

“I know.”

To fill a bit of the silence that follows, Kenma switches the TV on, pulling out a navy blue notebook, filled to the brim mostly with sketches. Notes are interspersed throughout, but he often finds himself having a hard time keeping focused, and as a result, his school books aren’t exactly the picture of organization.

Tetsurou works well -- quietly, and Kenma’s alongside him, feeling an overwhelming sort of calm at the silence of the house.

Their breathing mingles, Tetsurou’s slightly heavier. A fan above their heads slowly churns cool air into the room, and things so peaceful for the time being, so much so that when keys jingle in the front door Kenma audibly  _ groans.  _ He’d forgotten, practically, about his father.

He’s half debating rushing quickly up the stairs, but he and Tetsurou won’t be fast enough, and his dad knows he’s home, so there’s no way he’s getting away with that. Rather, he stays put and hopes he’ll pass through silently.

He can hear his father discarding his shoes by the door, coming down the hallway, hear him come to a stop at the door to the living room where the two boys are sitting side by side. 

Kenma can practically feel the air shift, his father clicking his tongue.

“Katsuko, come here.”

Kenma grits his teeth, unmoving; maybe, if he doesn’t respond, his father will abandon it. (It’s merely wishful thinking, and he definitely _doesn’t_ go away.)

“Kozume Katsuko,” he repeats, a sudden edge to his voice. “Come here. I won’t say it again.”

“Kenma,” he says sullenly, standing from the couch. “It’s Kenma.”

Kema’s seventeen, but he feels like a child under his father’s watchful gaze, practically feels himself shrinking beneath him. He can sense the dismay in his father’s expression, the sort of rigid, tense attitude his father had picked up since he’d been informed by Kenma’s mother.

“Did you ask to invite Tetsurou-kun to our home?”

“I-”

He presses further. “Did you?”

Kenma thinks that perhaps if he could squirm enough, he might be able to get away from his father’s scrutiny, but there seems to be no chance of that, and despite his visible discomfort, his father isn’t relenting.

“No,” he finally admits. “He-- he needed… a quiet place.” His sentence is rushed and he can just tell his dad doesn’t believe him. “To study,” he adds, gesturing to their books in the living room.

“He needs to go home,” his father says simply, continuing on to the kitchen.

His child is left standing in shocked silence; it’s not like Tetsurou hasn’t been around before, isn’t like his father doesn’t  _ know  _ him. 

“It isn’t fair,” he says, almost scowling as he turns to Tetsurou.

“No,” his friend agrees. “It isn’t.”

Kenma shifts, uncomfortable.

“I’ll go, though. I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”

“Sorry,” the younger of the two mumbles. The tips of his ears are red, practically on fire, and he feels about thirty seconds away from melting into the wall behind him, unable to meet Kuroo’s gaze as his friend heads out of the house and back towards his own.

He stands still for some time after Tetsurou is gone, dumbfounded at the way his father speaks to him, as if he’s so far above Kenma. It was never that way before, he thinks.

Rather than facing his father once more, Kenma stays alone in his room for the next few hours; his phone and homework are left downstairs, leaving him the bare minimum to keep busy, though  _ anything  _ is better than being alone with his father.

He isn't likely to apologize -- Kenma’s mother has, and for as often as she slips up, she tries her best not to, which is enough to keep him content. She's got a gentle nature about her, and despite the somewhat recent rockiness of their relationship, he definitely favors her to his father.

He’s relieved to hear knocks at the door; two of them one right after the other.

“Kenma?” she asks tentatively, entering once he’d acknowledged her. Her heels click across the hardwood floor until she perches at the edge of her child’s bed, expression soft.

She looks tired, worn out from a long day at work no doubt, but affectionate nonetheless.

“Would you like to help me with dinner?” she asks, brushing a hair behind his ear. He doesn't particularly, but he figures he can at least humor her.

It's small talk, mostly; his father is working at the kitchen table, tapping away at the laptop. He's serious in nature, has been for as long as Kenma can recall.

“Do you have anything exciting coming up?” his mother asks, looking up from the stove.

“Kuroo is--” he sighs, glancing over at his father. He's not even paying mind to what his child is saying, yet Kenma can't help his growing unease.

“Kuroo is house sitting in the city,” he explains, yawning. “He didn't want to go alone…”

His father's mouth forms a hard line and he looks up from his work, certainly not pleased.

“So I… He wanted me to come?” he says, more of a question than anything.

Just as she begins to voice her approval, his father cuts in.

“I can't see the merit in letting our daughter stay in the city alone for a weekend,” he says.

“It's not  _ alone _ \--”

“Kohei,” his mother interjects, lips pursed. “Kenma is more than capable of being careful, especially with Tetsurou.”

“How can we expect her to be careful? She's only seventeen. She's--”

“Capable,” she says, looking over at their child. “Kenma is capable of defending  _ himself _ .”

Kenma soars, practically feels himself floating on top of the world. To hear his mom defending him so easily is more than he could have ever asked for.

“So it’s settled. He’ll go,” she says, as if there was never a conversation to be had. He did, however, rush to text Tetsurou the news, practically buzzing as he did so.

**to: kuro**

my mom says i can come this weekend. 

No amount of disapproval from his father -- of which there was a lot -- can bring him down, he thinks. He’s on cloud nine; with his upcoming plans and with his mother’s support wholeheartedly behind him, he can’t see how anything could bring him down.

His dad doesn’t soften, never really, but when Kenma’s all set to leave for the train station with Tetsurou, he does say “be careful-- Kenma.” Even if he sounds a bit like it pains him to do so. And it’s a pathetic peace offer, so much so that Kenma barely wants to take it.

He does, though, says: “Okay.” And he does absolutely, one hundred percent, intend to do just that.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Comments and Kudos keep me going <3  
> Come say hello! kickthepjs.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can't express how grateful i am for everybody that has enjoyed this fic!! it has been an immense and incredible experience to hear from other trans people about how my writing affects them, and i'm so glad that something as small as my fic could make an impact on people. next week is the final part!  
> warnings for: fights with parents, mild dysphoria

The house they’re staying in is nice, if not slightly boring. It’s all beige and soft greys, has a nice enough amount of natural light, but Kenma thinks that if Tetsu weren’t here he’d be awfully bored. A pillow in the corner, soft and brown and with a toy left in the center tells Kenma they’ve got a pet, but he hasn’t seen one around and he certainly isn’t going to get up and look.

He doesn't think he could move if he wanted to; he's tucked up against Tetsurou's chest, can feel the steady rise and fall of his best friend's chest. He's far too content to get up and find the pet, anyway.

Tetsurou touches him often, nothing intense, but just distracted little touches; their knees brush together, or he leans into Kenma. They’re just close, which is enjoyable. He smells nice, like the detergent his family uses and like mint, which Kenma knows is his shower gel.

“This is good,” Tetsurou observes, squinting slightly. Afternoon sunlight is starting to flood in from the windows at the front of their house, dust dancing in the fragments of light.

Kenma hums his approval.

“Home’s never this quiet.  _ And  _ we don’t have to worry about our parents,” Tetsu elaborates.

“You know,” he says, letting out a soft laugh, “you don’t have to flirt with me every time our parents aren’t here.”

“Do you mind it?” He seems to be genuinely curious, turning to face Kenma.

They touch, Kenma notes, at their knees, where Kenma’s head is against Tetsu’s chest, and where just a few of the tips of Tetsu’s fingers rest at Kenma’s knees.

“No,” he says, confident in his answer. He doesn’t, not really. They haven’t defined anything, still in the in between stage of being pseudo-boyfriends, almost. It isn’t bad, just not something Kenma’s used to.

“There’s no issue, then,” Tetsurou says, shrugging.

“I didn’t say…” Kenma trails off, yawning. It’s nice to just have time to decompress away from home. His parents, his mother especially, mean well, but they can be a lot to handle. Kenma’s lack of siblings mean that their attention is largely on him, and it’s refreshing to be away from that. It’s only for three days, but he thinks it’ll help immensely.

Tetsurou tries again, now that Kenma’s slightly more relaxed. “You look good today, Kenma.” When the younger boy rolls his eyes at that, he insists “you  _ do _ . Honest.”

Kenma would beg to differ, but he’s a bit tired, doesn’t have the energy to rebut it.

“Your eyes, for one,” he continues. He’s got this stupid smile on his face, voice somehow softer than normal. Kenma didn’t even know that Tetsurou could sound like that, let alone sound like that when he’s talking to Kenma, of all people.

“They're luminous,” he admires, absently twisting a piece of Kenma's hair between his thumb and pointer finger. “And when the light hits them like it is right now, they're  _so_ golden. I've never seen anything like it..”

Kenma shrugs. “Genetics, I guess.”

“You’re lovely, Kenma,” he says, all warm and content in a way Kenma hasn’t quite seen him before. Kenma can’t help but flinch away slightly.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re wrong,” Tetsurou says shaking his head.

“ _ You’re  _ wrong,” Kenma counters.

“I’ll like, actually show you this time,” Tetsurou says. “Can I?”

Kenma just offers a shrug, sinking back into the couch and into Tetsurou’s arms. He breathes in slow; in for five, out for six. It’s supposed to be calming, he thinks.

He closes his eyes, half to try and center himself and half because the sun is unbearably bright, and nods. “Guess so.”

“You fit perfectly against me,” Tetsurou says, shifting his arm so it’s around Kenma’s shoulder. “Into my side, like this. Like, when you come over and we sit like this.”

Kenma remains silent, just nods.

“You’re beautiful,” Kenma adds, and Kenma lets out an almost silent huff. “Oh, quiet. You are.”

He’s  _ not _ . He’s quiet and awkward and his hair is stringy -- it falls in front of his eyes, but his dad’s not going to bring him in for a haircut and his mom’s so busy that that’s out of the question. He’s small and a bit lanky, not lean muscle the way Kuroo is. 

“I’m lucky to have you. I’m a lucky--” Tetsurou breaks off, sighing.

“Kuro,” Kenma deadpans, shaking his head. “You don’t have to do this.”

Tetsurou agrees: “you’re right. I don’t have to, but I’d like to, if you’d like me to.”

He starts once more: “your lips are so soft all the time. It’s winter, and they’re still not chapped,” he laughs dryly. “I don’t understand how, but I love kissing you. So much so that…” he breaks off, catching Kenma in a gentle kiss. 

It’s prompting, almost; his tongue presses where Kenma’s lips meet, causing the younger boy to melt into the kiss. “Kuro…” he sighs, breaking away for a moment.

He doesn’t think about how they’re in a stranger’s house, about how they’re sat on a stranger’s couch, about how this isn’t the most appropriate thing in the world. None of that matters. It’s just him and Tetsurou and  _ god  _ Tetsurou’s hand is resting at the small of his back and he doesn’t know if he can think, let alone breathe.

He doesn’t mind the in between, the stage they’re in; best friends, more than that, but nothing official. (“I think we should take it slow,” Tetsurou had said when they talked about exactly what it was that they were. “With college and with you going into third year. Let’s not put pressure on ourselves.”) They’d come to a happy middle ground, of sometimes brief, sometimes quite drawn out kissing, of spending weekends together, of racking up a hefty phone bill thanks to late night phone calls. (Even if there were ever only six houses between them). It’s not dissimilar to what they had before, but it is, in a way. It feels almost more complete.

“Kuro, I--” Kenma croons, pulling away once more. He doesn’t quite know where that was headed, doesn’t understand what he means, and Tetsurou doesn’t ask.

“Maybe we should watch a movie?” he suggests, glancing over at the table that Tetsurou’s laptop is rested on.

The pet in the house, a grey cat, has made herself known, perched up on a counter below the TV. She stretches her front paws out, gingerly walking across the floor towards them -- jumps up onto Kenma’s lap and kneads at his thighs, purring as she does so. She’s gentle, but not happy to be picked up; Kenma learns this when he tries and receives a sharp yowl in response, the cat quickly darting out of sight.

It’s nice, just the two of them. Kenma’s trying his absolute hardest to ignore the pink flush creeping up high on his cheekbones and the  _ swarm  _ of butterflies in his stomach. He’s thrilled, stupidly so, that Tetsurou wanted to spend this time with him. Despite being in a stranger’s house, several kilometers away from his own, Kenma didn’t think he’d ever felt so at home.

He hasn’t really particularly doubted that Tetsu’s enjoying himself, but he’s  _ sure  _ of it when they’re in bed later that night. He thinks absently that a lot of his fondest memories with Tetsurou are in a bed; sitting in Tetsu’s, his best friend reassuring him, or falling asleep there despite not exactly meaning to. Or -- this.

Tetsurou cups a hand under Kenma’s chin, guiding the younger boy to gaze up at him through half lidded eyes; the events of the day weren’t strenuous, exactly, but he’s  _ tired  _ and feels like he could just melt into the bed. Despite this, despite this almost achy tired feeling, he stretches upwards slightly to meet Kuroo, reveling in now complete and real and right everything feels.

He’s tired, yes, but never ever too much for this, never tired to let their legs tangle together -- Kuroo’s longer,lankier, but they fit together like a puzzle. They’re less scattered pieces and more together, the two of them mingling and coming together to form something beautiful. Not a landscape, not a beach scene or a sunny meadow. Not animals, nothing serene nor significant to anyone but them, but it’s  _ them _ , it’s two lifetimes, two people who seek comfort and safety in one and other.

With each kiss Kuroo gives him -- along his jawline, his neck, down along his collarbones until Kenma sucks in a quick breath, guiding Tetsu’s hands to rest against the slight inward curve at his hips.

“We won’t do anything you’re not…” Tetsurou whispers, losing his train of thought.

Kenma sighs contentedly, leaning into Tetsurou’s chest. He aches to his bones, just  _ tired  _ and just wanting to sleep. And despite being somewhere unfamiliar, in a bed he’s never slept in, Kenma sleeps and sleeps  _ well _ , waking up only to hear something clatter to the ground and a loud, accusatory meow.

The cat’s perched up at the end of the bed, shooting him a look that Kenma can’t quite interpret. She quickly turns to make an exit, padding off to the kitchen.

Kenma’s bleary; voice is bleary, throat’s scratchy, hair’s a bit unruly, but he makes out the red digits on the clock beside them: 11:39, and guesses that she must be hungry by now.

She is, judging by the way she weaves in between Kenma’s legs as he gets her breakfast -- brunch, he supposes-- ready for her. Tetsurou’s still snoozing away and Kenma can’t be bothered to wake him, not really. Instead, he decides, he’ll get cleaned up.

Whoever lives here (“My dad’s coworker’s sister!” Tetsu had told him), had left out instructions for everything, neatly written on paper. They were free to use the shower, she’d left food in the fridge, her cat; Eiko, she was called, ate twice a day, as well as a few other bullet points Kenma just couldn’t currently concern himself with reading.

He can’t say showers are his favorite part of the day, not really, but Tetsurou’s brought his own body wash that’s in his bag, had told Kenma he could use it, and when the younger of the two pours it into the palm of his hand, he breathes in deep and slow, closing his eyes.

He doesn’t let the water run cold and, as a result, shivers slightly when the cold air of the bathroom hits him, chilling him to the core. In a rush to get dressed, he drips onto the rug in front of the sink, quickly sopping up a portion of the water that’s continually dripping.

He’s a bit stripped down this way, flushed cheeks and darkness under his eyes very much apparent, and he doesn’t think he’s ever had such a distaste for the way he looks. Golden eyes flick up to meet his reflection and he sighs inwardly.

When he’s with Tetsurou, when they’re touching, kissing, he feels like he’s being pieced together, like he’s being made new again. Maybe, Kenma thinks, it’s not right to rely on someone for your happiness in that way, but he isn’t at all. Tetsurou has been completely on his side since day one, and as whole and real and new as he feels, true, complete happiness-- the glowy, yellow, luminous happiness he used to dream of comes from  _ him _ .

He’s having a hard time believing that, in his current situation. Sure, happiness is internal more than anything, that’s what everyone says, but his cheeks are a bit too round, his hair a bit too stringy, vastly  _ too long _ , his shoulders not broad enough--

He sighs, shakes his head, juts out his chin slightly, and stares back at himself. The reflection doesn’t give anything, though he’s not exactly sure what he was trying to get in the first place. He’d stay a bit longer, scrutinize the slightly bumpy parts of his face, pick apart all the details that make him  _ him _ , but he can hear a certain someone making a ruckus in the kitchen, and he slips out, shaking his head disapprovingly. 

“Loud,” he intones. “You’re a bull in a China shop, Kuro.”

“I’m your bull.” Tetsu grins, reaching for a bowl.

Kenma groans at that, sitting up at the island counter, chin rested in the palm of his hand. “That doesn’t even mean anything,” he points out, though the corner of his mouth quirks up in a slight smile.

Kenma’s spirits are starting to lift just being around Kuroo, but he’s already feeling slightly like he’s deflating once more, sighing into the heel of his palm.

Tetsurou, only once he’s gotten them both mugs of tea (Kenma hadn’t even asked, but it’s very much appreciated), gives him a sideways glance, prompting to explain what was behind the sigh.

Kenma half considers lying, passing off the sigh and the slump in his shoulders as nothing, but Tetsu definitely knows him too well for that. He’ll gently guide and prod Kenma towards telling him what’s wrong until the seventeen year old finally spills, and he’s not in the mood to put up a fight.

“Nothing happened.” He shrugs.

Tetsurou nods tentatively, doesn’t speak yet.

“Just… it’s one of those days.” He doesn’t need to elaborate. Tetsurou  _ knows _ , knows him so completely that there’s no need to put an explanation behind the frustrated words. He’s really not looking to give any more, already past his comfort zone, and they both know that.

“Do you…” Tetsu sighs, shaking his head; he seems to regroup, shifts his thoughts in another direction entirely. “Right,” he says. “One of those days. Do you think maybe you’d like to go into town?”

There’s something behind it, Kenma  _ knows.  _ There’s a glint in Tetsurou’s eyes, and Kenma can just tell that he’s got a motive behind the proposition. 

“What’s in town?” he asks dryly.

“Plenty of things. Restaurants. Fish market. Clothing shops.”

“Kuro-”

“Barber shops?” Tetsurou asks, one eyebrow raised

Kenma’s not about to get his hopes up. “I don’t-- I don’t have money.”

“Luckily I do. Do you think it might help?”

“You’re not paying for my haircut, Kuro.”

“I want to.”

“No.”

“I  _ want to _ .”

“ _ No. _ ”

“I’m going to,” Tetsurou says. He works shifts three or four days a week at a convenience market by home, and while it isn’t the best paying job, it’s enough for a high schooler. “Even if you want to pay me back later, I’ll do it for you today. If…” He hesitates, rubbing at the back of his neck. “You don’t  _ have  _ to,” he says, almost hurriedly. “But if you wanted to.”

Kenma hesitates, gaze shifting up to meet the taller boy’s. He readjusts his position on the barstool and opens his mouth to speak, thinking carefully before he does. He says, “I’m paying you back when we get back home.”

It’s an incredibly kind offer on Tetsurou’s part. Kenma’s dad wasn’t willing, exactly, to bring him for a haircut, and his mother simply didn’t have the  _ time _ . Over the years, the two boys had done plenty of favors for one and other; offering homework help, food, places to sleep, support, and, apparently… haircuts. 

“Right,” Tetsurou drawls, nodding. “I know, that’s fine. We can like…” he waves a bit uselessly before continuing: “we can go a little later in the day.”

“Right.” Kenma lets his legs slide the distance down to the floor, quickly walks off somewhere down the hallway to dress himself, at least, kind of. Boxer briefs hug his thighs and the t-shirt he’s decided on, faded and  _ so  _ soft, hangs off of him. He feels a bit better this way, a bit less empty.

Golden eyes flick over his reflection in the mirror, down the length of his body. He twirls a bit of hair around his pointer finger, letting it slide off and back down to frame his face. He straightens his back, shoulders broadening slightly, and stretches his arms up. He runs a hand through the underside of the hair, combing the sides back to meet it in a small bun. 

He shudders slightly, pleased with his simple handiwork; his dark roots are more prominent, but he much prefers his hair short and away from his face. He holds his hair back for a moment longer before letting go, stepping aside from the mirror.

If he can show the hairdresser something similar to what he’s just done, he thinks he’ll be happy. His father isn’t likely to be thrilled with him, and Kenma can’t help but be giddy about the fact that it isn’t up to his father. Furthermore, his hair will still be long enough for Kuroo’s liking; the third year has a habit of running his fingers through Kenma’s hair while they kiss. (Kenma’s observed this on multiple occasions. He still can’t believe it’s  _ real _ .)

He notes this once more when Tetsurou comes into the room, lets a calloused finger rest against Kenma’s jaw, and wraps one arm around the smaller boy’s waist, pulling him close. Kenma swallows a surprised noise, just stumbles a bit forward into Tetsu’s arms, tilts his head slightly.

It’s warm and soft and gentle, so thoroughly  _ Kuroo _ . Until recently, he’d only imagined kissing his best friend -- now, he doesn’t think he could forget what it feels like, even if he wanted to.

They kiss for what might be five minutes, might be a year; Kenma isn’t sure. Time passes somehow fast and not at all when he’s with Tetsurou, somehow. 

When they’re on the train, Tetsu’s hand rests on Kenma’s thigh. Kenma gives a disapproving glance, shifting so that the hand is on his knee, instead, and settles into his seat. 

They flip through glossy magazines once they’re in the barber shop waiting for an available employee. A song Kenma can’t quite place plays through a speaker he can’t seem to locate, and he can’t, no matter how much he might try, stop his leg from bouncing up and down.

The thing, the whole experience of being here, is weirdly overwhelming. Tetsurou waits in the chairs while Kenma’s hair is washed (the shampoo smells nice, but not as nice as Kuroo’s, he thinks). With shaky hands, he shows the barber a page from one of the waiting room magazines, one Tetsurou had shown him. It’s considerably shorter than his shoulder length hair, and he barely holds back  a smile when the person tending to him takes the picture from him, pinning it up on a cork board.

As strands of hair, both blond and brown fall to the floor, one side of Kenma’s mouth turns up into a smirk. He hasn’t let himself look, but he swears something swells and glows inside of him as he watches the employee sweep up the pile of his hair. He gives Tetsurou a hopeful glance, which his friend returns with a thumbs up.

By the time he looks, he almost wants to laugh -- now that it’s said and done, he doesn’t know why he didn’t do it sooner. Perhaps it’s silly to feel this good about a simple hair cut, but he feels light years more confident getting up from the chair than he felt sitting down in it. When he approaches Tetsurou again, he gives a crooked smile, even more so when his best friend admires him.

They walk through town, going nowhere in particular. They find themselves in a park, admiring the cherry blossoms, walking through a shopping district (they make a game of trying to find the most hideous clothes for each other to try on), and stopping once for snacks at a cafe.

Tetsurou says, as the sky is beginning to darken and clouds are beginning to roll in, that he’d absolutely kill for dinner, and so they decide to head back to the house. Neither of them mind making it an early night; it’s their last in the city, and they’d much rather spend it in each other’s company than the company of strangers. There’s just something about knowing there’s no possibility of interruption, of being able to enjoy each other’s presence totally and completely in a way they can’t do at home, either because of parents or siblings.

The train’s mostly empty, unsurprisingly. They’ve timed it so that for the most part, students are already at home and those people who work are still there, and they can genuinely just appreciate the quiet. There’s half a dozen other people, but Kenma could swear they’re alone.

Even the walk home, four blocks north and two west, doesn’t feel very long, and by the time they get in, the sky is black and the cat is eagerly awaiting them -- or rather, her dinner -- from where she’s sat up on the counter.

That night is easy, almost achingly so. The two throw together dinner -- rather, Kenma cooks and Tetsu sits up on the counter. (Kenma chides him for doing so, but the third year doesn’t budge). It’s nothing spectacular, but they each gobble it down like it’s the best meal they’ve ever had.

Tetsu suggests a movie, (it turns out, the owner of the house has a copious amount of Studio Ghibli movies, which both of the boys are delighted to find), and they decide to settle in for the night under mounds of blankets. Tetsurou can’t help but sneak kisses, gentle at first, and then more prompting. Kenma has to breathe in sharp, feels a bit like his chest is caving in.

He takes Tetsurou’s hand in his own, slightly shaky, from where it rests at his jawline, and guides it downwards, smiling shyly. 

“Later,” he promises, pointing to the screen in front of them. “Later, I promise.” Later isn’t that day, isn’t really on that weekend, either. They have a train to catch that night, having picked the latest possible, but there’s that wonderful, sort of looming promise of continuing this  _ later.  _

Kenma’s never been happier.

* * *

 

When Kenma approaches his house, he’s a bit surprised to find both of his parents’ cars in the driveway; his mother is expected, but his father generally doesn’t come home for another three to four hours. He’s quite the workaholic, has been for as long as Kenma can recall. 

When he was a young child, they both worked. Many of his earliest memories were at the Kuroo house, as they would often watch him. His mother and father both worked long hours in office buildings, and since Tetsurou’s parents had three boys of their own, watching a fourth child for their neighbors was never an issue in their book.

His mother had become increasingly invested in motherhood; she worked, still, but not nearly as much as she used to. His father, obviously, had never lost that side of himself. It was as if work was his priority, and Kenma was an afterthought.

He steps into the house, exchanging shoes for bare feet, and sets his bag up on a  designated hook on the wall. As he steps forward, he his parents in the kitchen. His father’s still in his work clothes, looking entirely too formal in comparison to Kenma and his mother.

The floor creaks under him, making his arrival known to both of them. His mother turns, warm smile quickly turning to a surprised expression. It doesn’t seem negative, just unsure, perhaps.

“You cut your hair,” she notes, nodding.

Kenma shakes his head. “I got it cut,” he explains. He shouldn’t feel as nervous as he does, but his father’s eyes are boring into him, and he  _ knows _ that he’s trying to hold back a comment.

“We’ll go down to the store,” she offers. 

When he cocks his head, she elaborates: “if you wanted dye.” It’s a kind offer, because most of what had been cut off by the barber was blonde, leaving him with primarily brown hair.

“That’s good,” he agrees, never daring meet his dad’s gaze.

His mother, seeming to sense that tensions are running high, quickly gestures to the table. “We were just going to eat!” she explains. “I’ll get out a plate for you, Kenma.”

He doesn’t have time to protest, to say he’d rather not sit here for dinner before she carries a plate to the table. By no coincidence, she sets it next to her own, patting the cushioned chair. 

“Did you have a nice visit?” his mom breaks the uncomfortable silence -- granted, between her husband and child.

He nods, quickly swallowing his small mouthful of rice. “It was--” he breaks off, shrugging. “It was nice to… just be alone,” he concludes, shoulders slumped. 

His mom turns, looking pointedly at her husband. “Kohei?” she prompts. “Did you have a nice day at work?” She’s trying, Kenma has to give her credit for that.

His dad half grunts as an answer, mouth a tight line. “We closed on the Anami deal today,” he tells her, looking a bit smug. Kenma still doesn’t totally understand what it is that his father does, but it seems awfully dull.

Silence settles in once more, not comfortable like it is with Tetsurou, but harsh and cold. His father’s gaze is steely, practically cutting into him. He pushes the thin frame of his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his middle and pointer finger. Kenma can tell he’s losing patience.

“Perhaps it would benefit you to spend more time at home,” he father finally says. “I want you coming directly home after school this week.”

Kenma opens his mouth to protest, but the look his father gives him makes the sound die in his throat. He simply nods, sinking down into his chair. Dinner had been appetizing before, but he doesn’t think he can stomach any more. He moves the grains of rice around on his plate, pushing it away towards the center of the table.

“Mom?” he mumbles, eyes flicking up to meet her gaze. “Can I go? Homework…” he asks. He  _ doesn’t  _ have much homework, certainly none he wants to do presently, but he’d do anything to get away; he’s desperate.

He practically springs up when she doesn’t object, quickly walks to his room. His backpack is still at the foot of his bed, jacket hung on his desk chair, and a basket of folded laundry that his mother must have done is set under his window. 

Slowly, he produces his math notebook, starting the assigned problems. He gets as far as the set up of one problem before he realizes that he’s definitely going to need a calculator; math isn’t his strong suit. Luckily, he recalls having left his in the living room last time Tetsurou was over. He can even get around the kitchen, with absolutely no need to face his father.

Slowly, cautiously, he pads down the hallway, trying his hardest to be silent. He does a good job of this, as he’s learned to over the years, yet things still… aren’t silent.

He notices his mother’s voice first. It’s a bit soft, quiet. He almost can’t tell what she’s saying, so he takes a second step forward.

His dad speaks and Kenma’s heart drops down to his feet as he does.

“We can’t trust our daughter, Emiri. We let her have  _ one  _ weekend alone, and she--” 

Kenma can visualize how red his father’s face is, the lines wrinkled into his forehead.

“He got a haircut, Kohei,” she says dryly. “Like he’s been asking us about for months. What about that constitutes a problem?”

“She’s got to stop playing pretend. You’re not doing her any favors by… enabling her.”

He’s frozen in time, in the middle of their living room. His feet are cemented to the wooden floor, and he can’t move as much as he’d like to.

His father continues: “she’s played pretend for her whole life, Emiri. This is nothing but that. She’s almost eighteen. It’s--” he breaks off, breathing heavy. “It’s time for her to grow up.”

Kenma cracks, feels his heart and his livelihood shatter and splinter, littering their living room floor. His mother’s in his corner, but his dad’s words cut into him like knives, each plunging deeper than the last.

“Let me remind you of something,” his mother coaxes. His dad doesn’t seem convinced, but he doesn’t interrupt her.

She sighs, almost exasperated, before speaking. “When we wanted a child, that’s all we wanted. We…” her voice wavers slightly, but nobody says anything. Kenma waits with bated breath. “We didn’t set any expectations on our child. When we held our newborn for the first time, all that we felt was  _ love _ . We’ve watched this child-- our only child -- grow and change as a person so much over the past seventeen years.”

“Emiri,” his dad says, gruff and irritated.

His mother snaps: “I wasn’t done.” Silence hangs thick in the air before she speaks again. “We have had the privilege of knowing our child, of giving him everything, so that he could become who he is today. It isn’t…” her voice softens, and Kenma  _ knows _ she’s crying. He’s heard her voice like this a few times before, more recently in the last few months.

“It isn’t our job to question him, Kohei. It isn’t our job to tell him what he isn’t, or that he’s playing pretend, or whatever you want to call it. It’s our job to love him unconditionally. No matter  _ who he is _ .”

It’s like Kenma’s suddenly granted the ability to move again, as if his brain suddenly recalls the job it was supposed to be doing before, because he backs slowly away from the living room, only letting out his breath when he’s sat safely on his bed.

He didn’t even remember his calculator, but he can’t imagine it’s worth it to go back out there and hear what his dad has to say.

He knows each and every square inch of his bedroom, knows of all the little scuffs and marks on the hardwood of his bedroom floor, yet somehow it’s like uncharted territory. He walks the length of it -- eleven footsteps one way and nine the other. He breathes in slow, hunches over at the end of his bed. He doesn’t have the energy to do his homework; he’s smart enough, so missing these few assignments won’t impact him too bad. His notebook sits empty on his desk, overhead light shining bright. He sighs, standing and switching it off. 

“I’m not a girl.”

He tells himself this, shivering slightly.

“I’m not a girl,” he repeats, carefully listening to the way the words are formed. “I’m a boy. Kenma’s a boy.” It’s affirmations like this that keep him going -- affirmations from himself, his mom, Tetsu, and still others. 

He leans up against the corner of his wall where his bed is pushed, running a hand through his hair; he’s still a bit surprise when he remembers it’s short now, but he sighs in content and decides it’s definitely a positive change.

Nothing his dad can say will make it otherwise, will make any of this untrue. He has to keep telling himself that. If that weren’t true -- he shudders to think -- none of this would matter. He swallows hard, pushes that thought somewhere far down in the crevices of his mind. He’ll concern himself with it later. For now, he’s got more pressing matters; laundry to put away, likely a phone call to Tetsurou. He’ll feel better if he makes use of himself, he thinks.

He’s only just picked up the laundry basket when he hears three knocks at his door and his mother’s voice: “Kenma, can I come in?”

He’s half tempted to wave her off, but then he recalls how she’d stood up to his dad earlier, and tentatively opens the door, stepping backwards into his room.

“Hey, mom.” His voice is a bit shaky, but she doesn’t acknowledge it, and he’s certainly not going to bring it up. 

She looks a bit out of place in his bedroom, sitting with her legs over the side of his bed. It clearly belongs to a teenager; it’s a bit messy, posters of his are tacked up on the wall, but it feels like his. He steps towards her when she pats the space besides her, sits up with one leg tucked under himself.

“You’re so grown now,” she says a bit wistfully, wrapping an arm around her child. He has a sort of nagging feeling that she’s going to be pretty emotional, but he doesn’t totally mind.

“I remember sitting in this almost exact spot with you when you were younger… Putting you to bed in your crib, tucking you in when you got a bit older, and now--” she sighs, pulling him a little closer. “You’ve become such an independent person, Kenma. Before we know it, you’ll be off at college!” she laughs sadly to herself, Kenma wondering if she has an ultimate point she wants to come to.

They sit in silence for a brief moment before she continues: “I know your father and I… make mistakes, and I can’t promise that we  _ won’t _ , but…” she pauses, pulls away, and angles her son’s chin so he’s looking up at her. “We… I… want to be there for you. I want to be the type of mother you deserve.”

“You’re trying,” Kenma says matter of factly. That’s all he needs. He’s beginning to feel a bit stiff and uncomfortable in this position, though, and the phone vibrating in his pocket provides a means to distance himself. He shifts, checks it, and then sheepishly explains “It’s Kuroo,” before swiping his thumb across the screen.

His mother smiles, her eyes a bit misty, and presses a kiss to his forehead. Her lipstick leaves residue there, but he she leaves it and then leaves the room herself, leaving her son to talk to his friend.

“Hey, Kuroo,” he says, relaxing into the pillows behind him.

“Hi!” his friend greets. There’s some background noise. “Hey, I just wanted to ask you about tomorrow. We have a game and I’m sure I could benefit by having my good luck charm there to cheer me on.” 

Kenma can easily envision Tetsu’s crooked smile, imagines that his hand is rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I think I can go,” he says. “I’ll ask my mom/”  _ Parents _ , it should be. But he can’t imagine that his dad is going to agree to the idea. He’ll run it by his mom the following morning.

“Right. Well, I’d really like to have you there if you can go,” the older boy agrees. “I have a good feeling about it.”

“I’m sure.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, Kenma balancing his cellphone on his shoulder. Vaguely, he can hear whatever music his friend is listening to. They chat absentmindedly, never really running out of topics, until Tetsu’s mom tells him that he has to sleep.

Kenma, looking out at the moon and the stars littering the sky, comes to the conclusion that it’s probably best for him to sleep, too.

He does just that, increasingly more content than he had been when he’d first come into his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i appreciate every single person who reads this <33  
> comments and kudos keep me going!   
> come say hi on tumblr: kickthepjs.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Courage is found in unlikely places.”  
> -J.R.R. Tolkien

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to everyone who has read this and shown love to it & me! i honestly can't believe it's over, i genuinely feel like i'm sending a massive part of me out into the world.  
> i turn 18 today, so consider this my birthday present from me to you guys. i hope you enjoy <33  
> warnings for: some slight nsfw (it's not very descriptive but it's there), mild dysphoria, arguments

Kenma thinks that if someone forced himself to pick the day he’d felt happiest, this might just be it. A fire burns warm and glowy in Tetsurou’s fireplace downstairs; an identical one is in his chest, warming him to his very core. Snow falls down outside, the window panes frosted over. The sky’s stark, white, and a bit too bright to look at, (He’d much rather look at Tetsu, anyway).

He crooks his head up to gaze at Tetsurou, who closes his eyes in content and pulls a red knit blanket a bit tighter around Kenma’s shoulders; he’s fully aware that Kenma tends to be on the colder side, and the fact that the temperature is below zero doesn’t help him, any.

“You’re so warm,” Kenma says, huffing slightly. “How are you so warm?”

Tetsurou shrugs, just shifts slightly. “I don’t know, especially with you leeching all the body heat I have to offer.” It’s all in good fun, of course, but the tips of Kenma’s ears tint slightly pink in embarrassment and he burrows a bit further underneath the copious blanket fort they’ve built up in Tetsu’s room, sighing in content.

“I’m your--” Kenma cuts off, not sure exactly  _ what  _ word to place there. “If anyone’s supposed to steal your body heat, it’s definitely me.”

“Right. I wouldn’t want it to be anyone besides my pseudo-boyfriend,” Tetsu teases.

“B… Boyfriend?” Kenma forces out. Tetsu had said that so easily, so calm, like it was  _ nothing.  _ And granted, yes, they’re definitely skating a thin line between friends and more. Kenma’s slipping, tumbling over the line, but still. They’ve had several shared kisses -- sometimes more -- two careful handjobs (he’d been a bit shaky the first time, but just the reactions, the  _ noises  _ he could make Kuroo make were enough to keep him going). But despite all that, they hadn’t made anything official. 

Tetsurou is quick to revise: “I mean, not exactly, but… kind of?” 

Kenma so rarely sees the third year unsure of himself that he almost doesn’t know what to make of the situation in front of him. Their situation is pretty unique, that’s certain; Kuroo’s going to college when this school year finishes, and while it might not be the best decision to be in a relationship, neither of them can comfortably say they’d want to see other people.

So, Kenma resigns, they’re just  _ here _ , just enjoying each other while they’re both living at home, just six houses apart. They revel in one another, never losing the wonder that their friendship had had since childhood. Since… forever.

“Kuro?” Kenma asks, so quiet the sound almost dies on his lips. Kuroo is so absolutely attentive, though, that he shifts slightly to face the younger boy, quirking his head inquisitively. 

Kenma gazes up through golden eyes, hyper aware of everywhere they’re touching ( _ knee to knee, hand to waist, elbow to knee) _ , and sighs, leaning a bit forward into Tetsurou’s touch.

“I-” he stumbles over the words, clumsy and unsure, and shifts his gaze upwards towards Kuroo’s bed. It’s inviting, made messily, and Kenma thinks he’d much rather be there.

“Do you wanna lie in bed instead?”

“Please.”

They’re warm, so warm, enveloped in blankets. The world outside is cold; sky is a stark white, a fresh coating of snow covers the ground, the bushes, the trees, but inside is  _ warm  _ and full of love and Kenma’s never felt so happy as he does in this moment.

Happy, he’s so happy, but he also feels a bit like he’s swimming in nothing, and when Kuroo kisses just where his lips join in the center, he can’t help but melt into his touch, They’re alone, Kuroo’s parents at work and his brother at a friend’s house, so there’s no conceivable reason that they shouldn’t be able to make the most of their time together.

“Is this okay?” Tetsurou pulls away, gazing down earnestly. “I don’t want to do anything you’re not comfortable with.” His face is laced with concern, and though they  _ have  _ gone further in the past, Kenma’s comfort always seems to be a high priority for him.

“So okay,” Kenma agrees breathlessly. There’s not a single doubt in his mind that this is what he wants. Here, today, with Kuroo.

 

It’s slow, cautious, even; Kenma doesn’t know what he’s expected, but this exceeds  _ everything.  _ Kuroo’s long and slender in the best way, gentle with Kenma like he’s something valuable. His fingers play at the hem of Kenma’s binder, which he’s elected to keep on.

When Kenma comes, Kuroo deep inside him, he doesn’t think he’s felt so complete in his life. He feels  _ real _ , back arched, hands splayed out against Kuroo’s chest, lips parted; he can’t breathe in the best possible way

“God,” he drags out, voice gone slightly scratchy. He repeats it, unable to say much more, certainly nothing coherent.

Their lips meet once more, and Kenma’s fingers press into Tetsurou’s hips, leaving crescent moons where his nails are a bit too long.

It isn’t really long, feels like thirty seconds and five years, until Tetsu pushes deeper into him and Kenma’s eyes flutter shut. When he pulls out and tosses the condom in the trashcan, Kenma shudders slightly.

“I’ve transcended,” Kenma sighs, voice a bit quieter than normal. The haze that’s settled over both of them is pleasant and warm, and he feels so complete with his head on Tetsu’s chest, like there’s no place he belongs as opposed to Tetsurou’s bed.

Tetsurou’s breathing is still a little shallow, a little bit erratic, but they’re both so relaxed that Kenma thinks maybe he could just fall asleep here and now. He wills himself not to think about what will happen when his other half goes to college, just focuses on the heart pounding in his ribcage and the arm around him. That’s enough.

Kozume Kenma loves plenty of things; he loves long afternoon naps, loves the feeling of stretching after hours of sitting. He loves apple pie and American music and when cats squint their eyes. He loves the smell of mint and loves the sound of fingers clacking away at a keyboard. He  _ loves  _ the feeling of doing well on a test he didn’t study for, loves the sound of other people saying his name.

Kozume Kenma loves Kuroo Tetsurou. A  _ lot _ . 

He thinks fleetingly that it might be foolish of him to feel this way, but then Kuroo squints at him and yawns--  any doubts Kenma might have had prior to that have dissipated, leaving him with a blissful calm.

_ He loves Kuroo. _

He tries not to overthink it; he’s a bit tired and hazy anyway, tucked under the crook of Kuroo’s arm. It feels wrong to worry, so he simply doesn’t, just lets his eyes close and lets himself drift off to sleep with Tetsu’s arm around him. It’s best, this way.

* * *

 

Tetsu’s mother is a gracious hostess, to say the least. With how often Kenma is at the Kuroo house, it’s as if she has a fourth son. He occupies Akihito’s seat, as he’s studying away at college. The pang somewhere inside of Kenma reminds him that next year, it’s going to be  _ Tetsu  _ at college. He doesn’t want to think about that. 

In any case, Tetsurou’s mother is smiling brightly, dishing out bowls full of miso soup; Kenma’s pleased because she’s an excellent cook, far better than either of his parents. Tetsu’s father has yet to come home, but they’re joined by his little brother, anyway.

“Ah, Tetsu-kun,” she says, directing her gaze to her middle child, “I wanted to remind you of your plans this weekend.”

Between bites, Tetsurou says: “visiting college, I know.”

“Tetsurou has a volleyball scholarship offer!” She tells Kenma, as if he didn’t already know this. He clears his throat, just nods politely. He thinks, for the second time in just a few minutes, that he’d rather not entertain the idea of Tetsu leaving.

Not that it's an idea. It's very... real, and imminent, and Kenma  _doesn't_ _want to think about it._

The time in which they are away from one and another is never a pleasant experience. In Kuroo’s first year of middle school, where Kenma was left behind, the young child had grown increasingly shy and withdrawn at school. In Kenma’s own last year of middle school, it had been the same. That was with Tetsu still living just down the street, with spending weekends and weeknights at his house. He won’t have that anymore. It’s empty silence, weekends alone and the same loneliness he’d known for those years. He has Hinata, he supposes, but he lives far, and Kuroo is just… different. Kenma’s chest  _ aches _ .

“I’m not surprised,” he deadpans. Tetsurou is a skilled player as well as the captain of the Nekoma team. If anybody deserves this scholarship, it’s him. 

Suddenly, Kenma isn’t so hungry anymore. He pushes his bowl to the center of the table, asks to be excused. He plods off to the bathroom when nobody protests, and locks the door behind him.

He’s wobbly, gone like jelly on the inside. He’d known for… forever, that Kuroo was going to have to go off to college, but it was… is  _ real _ now.

He stretches his shoulders out, meets his own eyes in the reflection of the mirror, and puffs out his cheeks. His eyes are a bit red, and he thinks that maybe if the situation were different, he’d allow himself to cry. He doesn’t, though, switches on the tap and splashes cold water under his eyes until he’s at least marginally more satisfied with his appearance.

He returns to the table. They’ve finished up and are cleaning the dishes; rather, Tetsurou and his mom are cleaning the dishes. Tetsu’s little brother is whining about not wanting to do  _ his  _ dishes. Kenma shakes his head knowingly 

He chips in, takes his own dishes to the sink. When Tetsurou’s mom thanks him, he shrugs and says it’s nothing. Mostly, he just wants to be alone with Tetsu again. Whilst he loves being around his best friend’s family, he loves being around his best friend more than anything. He’s feeling a bit overwhelmed. 

Much to his relief, Tetsu’s mom gives her permission for the two to go upstairs, and there are no complaints from either of the boys, who quickly dash up the stairs and find themselves on Tetsu’s messily made bed. 

They’re facing each other, knees separated by mere centimeters. Kenma’s leaned against the headboard and Kuroo leans his head against the wall, stifling a yawn. It’s silent but nice, somehow. Sunlight floods through the windows. Kenma practically forgets his earlier worries. 

A few moments into the comfortable silence, Tetsu breaks it with the rustle of notebook paper. They’ve both got homework assignments to do, though Kenma thinks he can afford to put his off. Tetsu needs help with math sometimes, anyway, so it’s best if he isn’t terribly distracted.

He occupies himself looking around, anyway. Tetsu’s parents keep the house incredibly cold, and Kenma’s naturally cold as is, so after some time he stands and drapes Kuroo’s volleyball jacket over his shoulders in some attempt to warm himself up. 

Kuroo, on the other hand, is eternally warm, it seems; he’s like a space heater. It definitely isn’t the only aspect of the two of them where they’re opposites, but it’s one Kenma is particularly fond of. The third year slings an arm around his shoulder, pulling him a bit close.

Kenma feels  _ warm _ , either from the jacket or from Kuroo, from the way he’s making him feel. It’s a combination of both, probably.

“Do you know…” Tetsu begins, shifting his notebook into Kenma’s view, “what this answer is?” He points out a math question, something to do with finding limits.

“It’s two,” Kenma explains after quickly sketching. “See-”

“Oh! I see!” Kuroo agrees. Kenma doubts it, but he’s silent once more, anyway.

“And zero,” he adds after a moment. The blush on Kuroo’s face makes the fire in his chest burn all the brighter. He’s not warm, he’s  _ hot  _ and he loves Kuroo and he doesn’t know what to think.

He helps Tetsu with three more problems, glances over at his paper every so often. It’s covered with distracted doodles, but he finishes it after half an hour, shoving it away in his folder.

“That’s enough math for a lifetime,” Kuroo says, shaking his head.

“You’re still going to have to take math in college,” Kenma, always the voice of reason, intones.

“College,” Tetsu repeats, looking a bit awestruck.

“College,” Kenma agrees. “See, if you forgot, you’re eighteen now, so.”

“Right. Getting to that age!” Tetsurou says. “That’s… weird, isn’t it? That I won’t be here anymore.” He’s quick to revise: “I mean, I’ll come  _ visit _ , and you can visit me! But-” he doesn’t take the thought any further.

“I know what you mean,” Kenma agrees. “I know.”

Having Tetsurou here, having this sort of relationship is  _ nice _ , it’s something Kenma hasn’t had before, and while they’ve never made it official, he doesn’t think they’re… not together, exactly.

Tetsu catches him by surprise, angling Kenma’s chin upwards towards him and pressing a gentle kiss to the middle of his lips. His eyes are soft and knowing, and when he pulls away, Kenma thinks all the breath has left his body.

“I wanted to…” Kuroo begins, gaze flitting around the room and settling on a seemingly very interesting scuff on the baseboard, where the floor meets wall. “I wanted to talk to you about something, Kenma.”

Anxiety already has the second year worried. Kuroo’s going far for college, or Kuroo doesn’t want what they have, or Kuroo wants him to go home, or--

“When I’m in college,” he starts-- Kenma notes that his voice doesn’t have its usual confident tone, worrying him  _ even further _ \-- “I know we’re not… dating, not exactly, but if you want to see other people… If you do, I wanted to tell you that I’m not going to stop you from doing that, Kenma.”

“Oh.” Kenma can feel his cheeks heating up, a telltale sign that he’s feeling anxious. That’s just the beginning - he’s everything; anxious, unsettled… other synonyms for ‘anxious’ aren’t coming to him, but if they were, he’d be feeling those too. “Yeah.”

“You don’t  _ have  _ to. Just, I know it’s a possibility, and I guess it is for me, too. And I wanted you to know there would be no hard feelings if you… wanted to see other people while I’m away.”

Kenma feels sick, a bit. He nods and takes his phone out of his backpack, angles it away from Kuroo and quickly texts his mom to ‘ _ pls call me i want to go home.”' _

Lucky for him, she does two minutes and thirty three second later, not that he was counting. She asks what’s wrong, knows the waver in her child’s voice well, but he doesn’t give any.

“My mom wants me home,” he tells Kuroo. “Thanks for having me over. Good luck with your homework, Kuroo.”

The second year shoves his phone deep in his pocket, heading down the stairs before Kuroo can answer. He leaves his friend with his mouth open, answer having died out of his lips, and doesn’t even thank Tetsu’s mom for having him over. He  _ darts  _ down the street to his house, where his mother is, not surprisingly, waiting for him in the hallway.

“Kenma,” she keens, closing the door behind him. “What’s wrong, my darling?”

“Just homework,” Kenma lies. “I didn’t know how to ask to leave, so I needed you to bail me out." Hopefully she can ignore his watery eyes, ignore the flush on his cheeks and the crack in his voice. Hopefully,  _ he  _ can ignore the fact that though they act like they are, Kuroo doesn’t  _ care  _ about dating Kenma. He doesn’t care.

“Kenma…” she sighs, seems to give up. “If you need help with homework, you know where to find me.” She wraps her arms tight around his shoulders, and he winces slightly, but tolerates it either way. He thinks if the situation were different, he might appreciate it, but he  _ can’t _ .

She sees through him, but she knows him well enough to know that he’s not going to talk until he’s ready. That’s if he does at all.

His door locks behind him, and two texts from Kuroo light up the screen of his iPhone. He deletes them without ever reading them, shoves his phone in a drawer in his desk, and sits beneath his window, sighing.

Only when both of his parents are asleep does he shower, stands under water so hot he feels his skin might melt, and emerges to a fogged up mirror and reddened skin. He looks like  _ shit _ , but he supposes it doesn’t matter; it isn’t like he has anyone to impress.

His phone buzzes violently from inside the drawer, and he decides he’ll check it, anyway. He’s surprised, pleasantly or otherwise, to see that it isn’t from Tetsu. He’s probably asleep by now, anyway.

 

**from: hinata**

**i’m coming to tokyo next week!!**

 

**from: hinata**

**my dad has a meeting and he says i can come along!! maybe i can see you?**

 

**to: hinata**

**maybe, yeah.**

 

It’d be nice for a change, to see somebody else. Not to mention, Hinata lives far, so it isn’t like Kenma sees him often. He’ll take him up on it. Maybe he’ll have to distance himself from Kuroo. Maybe that’s what they both need, after all.

* * *

He’s  _ lonely _ . He’s so lonely that when Hinata shows up at his house six days later, he doesn’t even falter at the younger boy’s excited tone of voice.

“My room’s upstairs,” Kenma explains. “But if you’re hungry, my dad just went shopping.”

As it turns out, Hinata’s not really hungry. He admires how quiet Kenma’s house is: (“My house is never quiet! Natsu-- that’s my sister -- is  _ so loud! _ I guess I am too, though.”)

Kenma leads them up to his room, which is unusually clean. He usually keeps it neat, but it’s more so than normal; his mom had made him clean it up since he was having a guest over. (He’d been tempted to say that she didn’t make him when Kuroo came over, but he didn’t want to bring him up, really.)

“So neat!” Hinata admires, sitting down at Kenma’s desk chair. Kenma himself sits at the edge of his bed, nodding. “My mom had me clean it,” he admits. He half wonders what Hinata’s room is like, but he doesn’t ask.

“So,” Hinata begins, excited as usual, “whose volleyball jacket is this? Is it… oh, I lost his name.”

He’s referring to Tetsu’s jacket, which is hung up on the back of Kenma’s chair. He sort of winces involuntarily.

“Tet-- uh, Kuroo,” he says. “Yeah. I haven’t given it back just yet.”

Hinata raises an eyebrow. “Did he give it to you? Are you  _ together? _ ” He purses his lips, forcing Kenma to quickly shake his head.

“No,” he denies, admittedly slightly bitter about the response. “No, we aren’t.”

Shouyou seems to understand that Kenma would rather not explain their current situation, because he moves on to a new topic. His mind, it seems, moves a thousand miles a minute.

“I’m passing English now!” he tells Kenma, grinning brightly. “I wasn’t, before, but Yachi-san-- she’s our first year manager, if you didn’t remember -- helped me! So I’m passing,” he reiterates. “Our captain is  _ really  _ good at English. Is yours?”

Kenma isn’t quite sure what that has to do with anything, but if he ignores the last part, he can shift the attention away from Tetsurou, so he takes the bait.

“English is hard,” he agrees. He doesn’t struggle with it as much as some others he knows. Morisuke, for instance, struggles a  _ lot.  _ He’s helped him alongside Tetsu at times. He’s a bit ahead, anyway. His father learned English as a second language and taught him a lot of it as a child, so he’s well above a second year’s average level; not fluent, but able to hold a decent conversation. 

Something Kenma’s noted about Shouyou is that he doesn’t really have much of a filter. He’s opposite to Kenma in that way, They’re two extremes; Hinata says, it seems,  _ everything  _ on his mind, and Kenma… Kenma keeps his thoughts to himself.

Hinata’s thoughts are about Kuroo, it seems. He asks, “are you  _ sure _ you and your captain aren’t dating, Kenma?”

“We’re not!” Kenma snaps, standing from his bed. He  _ yanks  _ the jacket from the back of his chair. With the friction from Hinata’s back against the chair, he hears the threads rip, but he doesn’t even look. He’s never been a crier, even as a child, but hot, angry tears threaten at the brim of his eyes.

He utters an almost silent “I’ll be back in a second, Hinata,” and heads down the hallway. When he’s in his bathroom, he presses a cold, wet washrag to his eyes. He doesn’t want to cry, and he definitely doesn’t want Shouyou knowing he’s upset.

He doesn’t even know  _ why  _ he’s upset. They weren’t dating. They weren’t. They agreed on that, that whatever they were wasn’t… dating. And yet Tetsu's words still sting as much as they did when he first said them. Kenma doesn’t know. He just doesn’t know.

When he returns, he mutters an apology, something about having to use the bathroom, and sits back on his bed. He’ll ask his mom to sew whatever ripped on Tetsu’s jacket, but he doesn’t  _ care. _

Hinata’s a welcome distraction; they cycle through topics from volleyball to music to Tobio and to Shouyou’s dogs at home. Kenma doesn’t talk much, but he’s a good listener, and it seems that Shouyou is enjoying having somebody to talk to other than his teammates. As entertaining as they are, it’s good to interact with a variety of people… He’s still learning that himself.

They lose six hours and gain two bowls of noodles before Shouyou’s dad comes to pick up his son and return back to wherever they’re staying-- home or a hotel, Kenma isn’t sure, but he’s a bit overwhelmed and very glad to be alone, as much fun as he’s had.

He likes being alone so much, in fact, that he doesn’t meet Kuroo to walk to the train the next morning; his dad drives him, instead, and when he sees the third year on campus, he ducks into the bathroom. He doesn’t have it in him, and he definitely isn’t one for confrontation.

Avoiding Kuroo can’t hurt any worse than knowing that he doesn’t think  _ anything  _ of their status.

* * *

He can’t avoid Kuroo when he’s in Kenma’s  _ living room _ ! He doesn’t believe his mom when she says that Tetsu came to see him, but he’s there in his six foot one inch, lanky glory. Kenma almost turns around. Instead, he takes the jacket that’s balled up in his hand and tosses it at Kuroo, and  _ then  _ turns to go back up to his bedroom.

Volleyball has given Tetsu good reflexes, and he follows. Kenma makes it to his bedroom, but aggravatingly, Tetsu is leaned against his door frame, smirking.

“Hear me out?” he asks.

“I don’t get why you’re bothering,” Kenma deadpans. “You’re going away in a few months-- it doesn’t  _ matter.” _

“It matters,” Tetsu counters. “To me. Enough for me to come over and ask your mom to please let me in… So I could talk to you.”

“I’m going to give you…” Kenma pauses, glancing at his phone, “a minute. Say what you need, then get--”

“It was bad timing,” Tetsu begins. He seems vulnerable, soft in a way that Kenma hasn’t really witnessed him before. He’s seen Tetsu when he’s sad, but he hasn’t seen the third year this… humbled. “Look, Kenma. I like you. I really, really, stupidly like you. And I know I’m not going far for college, but I was… I  _ am  _ scared that we’ll grow apart.”

“Kuro-” Kenma interjects.

Tetsu shakes his head. “I tried to distance myself so when I left, it would be easier for you, but that was stupid. I know that now, obviously.”

“Kuro, honest--” Kenma says, a bit louder. Tetsu doesn’t make himself vulnerable like this. It’s unusual, and frankly makes Kenma a bit uncomfortable.

“Just one more thing?” Tetsu asks. Kenma crosses his legs underneath him, back against his headboard.

“I haven’t… Been anyone’s boyfriend before,” Tetsurou admits. “I haven’t done that. And it scares me like hell, to think about it, but you’re-- you’re not just anyone. I don’t want to be anyone’s boyfriend. I want to be  _ yours _ .“

Kenma falters, protest dying in his throat. He nods, shifting his gaze from the grooves of his floorboards to Kuroo’s knuckles, white from gripping the side of Kenma’s desk.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Yes, I mean… Yes. I want… Yeah.”

Words don’t come to him, but they don’t have to, because Kuroo’s  _ there  _ and kissing him and it’s slow and cautious and Kenma can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but bunch up Tetsu’s shirt in his right hand and place his left against the small of Kuroo,  _ his Kuroo’s  _ back.

“I’m sorry I didn’t give you time to talk about it,” he says quietly, pulling away. All the forgiveness in the world is in Tetsu’s eyes, and in that moment, he  _ knows  _ they’ll be okay.

* * *

Things are incredible. Not simple, not always easy, definitely not  _ perfect _ , but… incredible. Kenma’s never been so proud of someone. The volleyball scholarship, college, it’s all so good for Tetsurou. Grainy Skype calls are Kenma’s new favorite thing, second only to… this.

Second only to being  _ in  _ Tetsurou’s dorm room, second only to staring up at the ceiling. Second only to weekend visits and being shown around, paraded like he’s something special. It’s second only to Kuroo teasing him, kissing him when his roommate -- Koutarou, Kenma finally remembers -- is away at class or practice or  _ something. _

He’s content, can’t believe he ever thought that they weren’t going to be okay. Because here, in a tiny cramped dorm room in Tokyo, he’s really, really, honestly the happiest he’s been, maybe not of all time but of anything he can recall.

He’s happy. He’s Tetsurou’s  _ boyfriend.  _ They’re happy and he’s allowed to visit two weekends a month and he actually… gets along with Tetsu’s roommate, never mind how loud he is. Tetsurou likes him, anyway, and Kenma’s glad that Tetsurou’s settling in well.

“Kuro?” he asks, quiet.

He’s met with a tired mumble, something unintelligible. He’s so tired, having been up for an eight o’clock class in the morning (Kenma had slept in, met him at nine thirty in the cafeteria for breakfast-- which, for the record, hadn’t even been very  _ good _ . He’d enjoyed it, though. He could sit and watch paint dry with Tetsu and he’d enjoy it, still.)

Kenma abandons that thought entirely, settles on letting his eyes work on memorizing Tetsu, as if he hasn't already. He traces the curve of his lips with the lightest of touches, never enough to wake his boyfriend (he'll never be over calling him that. His boyfriend!) He can't see much other than that, Tetsu's head sandwiched between two pillows, but he's committed  _every_ part of Tetsu to memory, so it isn't really an issue. He just has to close his eyes.

So he does just that, and as he does, he sleeps and sleeps  _well_ , knowing that his world is here, in a tiny dorm room in Tokyo. He can't imagine it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic would never have happened or happened the way it did without my best friend kae (tadachans on tumblr and celestialhowell here on ao3. check them out! if you like my stuff at all, you'll adore theirs.  
> also i want to say thank you to my friend ash (ufosystem on tumblr, aciidangel on here) for listening to me cry about this fic. a lot. and for being so supportive of me and of this fic. thank you so much, ash <33  
> comments and kudos are my lifeline.  
> come say hey on tumblr: kickthepjs.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading.  
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. This fic feels like my baby so I would love to hear your opinions.  
> Come say hello on tumblr: kickthepjs.tumblr.com


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